Raiders of the Wasteland
by MythicDawn12
Summary: When Hits discovers a plot to destroy Megaton, he rushes to stop it. But the bad guys in charge seem to have something else in mind, namely Hits himself.
1. Tapdancing

**Bum-ba-da-dah-dunnnn! The next li'l story with Hits as he does his usual thing. Now, _this _****story takes place before the Big Town incident. About two years or so before.**

**Enjoy, and be sure to review. Tell me what you think. Are the deeper mystery enshrouded parts interesting? Do the action scenes need more description? That kind of stuff.**

**In any case, enjoy.**

**-mythicdawn12**

**Fallout 3 isn't mine, Hits is mine. So back the fuck off before I stab your monkey ass.**

"Jesus tap-dancing Christ Bill," muttered Hits as he angrily threw another handful of caps on the table, "you're good at this. Bastard."

Billy Creel just grinned and swept the caps to his side of the table. "You got to be good at prediction partner. You got to assess, analyze and rip caps off from your friends."

They both momentarily ignored the yelling and groans of pain as they counted the amount of caps they each had left. Hits kicked his feet up and rested them on the opposite chair. Hits wore a pair of pre-war tennis shoes he had found in an old store when he was out exploring, old boot-cut blue jeans and a white t-shirt underneath a tan canvas jacket. He was twenty-one, 5' 9", with light brown tanned skin and medium length black hair ("Like the Prince of Persia!" Hits says, but nobody gets it.) He looked pretty scruffy today, not having ben able to shave due to the fact his last blade had dulled. He'd have to go looking for some more. For now though, he and Billy watched the fight.

Billy sipped his nuka-cola.

"You know, I was pretty damn sure Jericho would put the first punch in," Hits mused as Andy Stahl attempted to tackle Jericho to the ground yet again. Jericho side stepped and threw him off balance, but Andy threw a falling kick and caught Jericho in the nose. Now both combatants were bleeding heavily from the nose. He sighed as he looked down at his meager supply of caps. Then he laughed as Jericho tossed Andy into the town brahmin. It panicked and ran off, chased by its caretaker. Hits loved chaos.

"I mean," Billy started, "I thought Andy was going to punch _you _when you told him Jericho tried to rape Jenny. He looked friggin' pissed man."

Hits frowned at the eye-patch wearing cap thief. "I know, but Jericho is the hardened raider murderer. Ten caps on him straight up uppercutting Andy...now I thought _that _was a steal."

"How did you find out about that anyway? Not many people knew at all." Hits smugly stuck a thumb over at Moriarty, who was also betting on the fight with Lucas Simms. The sheriff didn't seem to mind fistfights when he could possibly earn some caps from them. Hits mimed typing on a keyboard and Billy "ooohed" in recognition. Then they both started laughing as Hits pulled a red thong from his pocket and pointed at Nova.

"Damn Hits, you are quite the sneaky snake. I'd give anything to be able to lockpick and hack into computers and shit. Psssh, I can only shoot stuff."

Hits sat straighter, wide-eyed, and exclaimed, "But that's the best one!"

Right before Jericho landed on their table, yelling curses. Andy caught his breath as Jericho growled something about fucking bitches. The hint of cigarette smoke caught Hits' nose as Jericho shot up again, his face covered in blood and one eye blackened. "Jericho, don't you know cigarettes can be hazardous to your health?" Hits said, barely holding back a smile. Jericho glared at him. "After I beat up this kid, I'm coming after you fuckface. I didn't want any trouble from the Stahls, and then you open your big fat mouth."

Hits shrugged. "I was bored. I wanted to see a fight. Shit, I'd do it again."

Jericho thought for a minute. Then he nodded in respect. "I guess if you look at it that way I can forgive you. I was pretty bored myself."

Then he jumped off the table and ran back at Andy, who was ready for the assault.

Hits winced. "That one looked like it hurt."

Billy agreed.

Then Nova walked over looking pissed. She snatched the red thong out of Hits' grip and slapped him across the face.

Hits rubbed his cheek and looked up at her. "Uh, Nova? I told you I'm not into that masochistic stuff. I mean, if you want it I guess I could take you back to the bar and spank you a bit..." he ended suggestively.

Nova tried to slap him again, but Hits caught her wrist and pulled her down to his lap. "Let go of me you bastard!" she hissed at him, trying to squirm out of his strong arms. Hits furrowed his brow and looked at her in genuine concern. "Are you okay today? You're never really like this, you know, all mad." She still looked pissed at him, but she noticed he was really listening. She sighed and whispered. "I had a thing for Jericho, a couple years ago. I was really attracted to the 'bad-boy' thing. I guess remnants of that attraction still exist, because I'm pretty mad you screwed him over like this."

She indicated Andy now hitting Jericho with a chair as Jericho tried to block while finding something to hit Andy back with. She also looked over at Leo Stahl, being held back by a bunch of the settlers. It wouldn't be fair if it was two against one, and Andy was holding his own surprisingly well.

"Jericho is a murdering douchebag," Hits said seriously, "I wanted to see a fight. I made it happen. The fact Jericho is getting pretty well ass-whooped is a bonus. But, I guess I could help him out." Hits gently pushed her off his lap and stood up, cracking his neck and stretching in the process. "Billy," he said as he stripped off his worn canvas jacket, "hold this, and can you drag me home if things go poorly?" Billy rolled his eyes and gave Hits a thumbs up. Hits tossed his jacket over to him and picked up his chair, Nova watching him in confusion.

"Hey guys!" he called over to the Megaton settlers, "Let Leo go!" The group stopped holding Leo back, and he ran off toward Jericho and Andy.

"Another fucking great day." Hits sighed and threw the chair at Leo right before punching the nearby Colin Moriarty in the face.

_______________

Hits woke up. His nose hurt. His left eye hurt. Could he even open his right eye? Nope. _Probably too much blood coating it_, he thought. Damage assessment. Bruised all over the place, possibly broken nose and a black eye. "Not too bad," he coughed out loud as he fully opened his left eye and tried to gaze around. He was upstairs in Billy Creels house, he recognized the bottles of nuka-cola and the teddy bears on the corner table. Old, partially rotten shelfs hel up a variety of knick knacks, including toy cars, little rubber balls, and some old pre-war books. Above him the ceiling rusted slowly, the old metal sheeting looking the worse for wear here. Actually, the metal sheeting in the whole town looked like shit.

"Hello Mr. Hits sir," said the cutest voice he had heard in the wasteland thus far. He looked to his right to see Maggie, Billy Creels adopted nine-year old daughter. Her parents were killed by raiders when she was younger, and Billy had found her hiding beneath her parents bed.

"Hello Maggie," he said wheezily and suppressed a cough. "Whatsup?"

She looked sternly at him. "You really should be more careful. It's not very smart to take on five people in a fight."

Hits tried to get a grips on his memory, not working very well through his foggy, sleep-laden mind.

"Yeah about that, can you remind me what happened Mag? I like to hear it from another perspective." he said with a small grin.

"Well basically, after you threw your chair at Leo and punched Mr. Moriarty, you ran over to Andy and Jericho, picked up another chair and hit them both with it. After that you randomly kicked one of the settlers in the nuts and then ran away from all of them laughing all crazy before you tripped on a loose pipe."

Hits grimaced. "And that's when they..."

"That's when they all caught you and beat you up, yeah. Afterwards they fought each other again."

Hits grunted and tried to roll over, but abandoned that quest after his side screamed at him to stop.

She giggled. "Lucy said it was the funniest thing she'd ever seen."

"I'm guessing she means the tripping and getting beat up part?"

"Uh-huh."

"Aww well, I had fun. Punching Colin in the face made my week." Hits felt his stomach growl. "Got any grub?"

Maggie stood up from her old stool and walked down the stairs to start rummaging around the ancient fridge. Hits winced at every creek he heard as she stepped from each stair to the next. This place was _old._

He waited a few moments as he listened to her moving stuff around.

"We got the grubbiest grub in the whole wasteland here!' he heard her cry from below.

"I'm guessing you mean that negatively?" Hits cried back, trying to scratch his leg without making the movement hurt. "Yup!" came her enthusiastic reply.

Hits felt sorry for his stomach as she walked back up the stairs holding a tray with his absolute favorite. Cooked squirel meat and old, preservative drowned yum-yum deviled eggs. Yay.

At least the nuka-cola was good. He took a swig of it as she set the tray down next to his bed and almost cried at the effort of moving his arm.

"Where's your dad?" he asked her as he destroyed himself trying to have another sip.

"He's helping Mr. Simms trying to get everyone to talk out their differences. The Stahls seem to have calmed down, especially when they heard Mr. Jericho didn't actually do...whatever bad thing he did to Ms. Jenny. What exactly is rap?" she asked curiously.

"Mostly terrible music kid. Some of its good. Most of it is bad." he said without missing a beat.

Maggie "ohed" in understanding. "So he sang bad music to her? I don't think that would get the Stahls so angry at him to start beating him up."

Hits shook his head. "Oh, it would. Ever heard of Li'l Romeo?"

He didn't get to say anymore, because Billy picked that moment to slide open the metal door to his house. "You awake yet partner?" he hollered up at Hits as he grabbed a nuka-cola from the shelf.

"Who's asking?" Hits shot back as Billy jogged up the stairs to make sure his friend was okay.

"Tell you the truth man, Simms is asking. We're working out everyones differences and Colins beef with you is you owe him some caps. Doc Church fixed his nose up but charged him. Alot."

Hits almost cursed before remembering Maggie was in the room. "How much?"

"Two-hundred caps." This time Hits did curse, but Billy predicted as much and covered his daughters ears.

"Where the hell does Doc Church get off charging so much just for a broken nose? And where does Moriarty get off blaming me?!"

Billy looked confused for a second. "Didn't you punch him in the face?"

"Well, maybe he shouldn't have looked so punchable right then. I say it's his fault."

Billy chuckled. "Why did you punch him, really?"

"Because he's an ass, and I felt like it. Really Billy, you should know me well enough by now," Hits said, propping himself up on one elbow and eating a forkful of deviled egg.

"I reckon I should. But the settler? Really? Was that necessary?"

Hits frowned and looked thoughtful.

"Well, Andy, Leo, Jericho, Moriarty and me. That makes five. I don't like uneven numbers. I added a sixth for practicality."

Billy couldn't hold back a grin as he listened to his friends logic. "You're crazy you know that?"

Hits nodded, his mouth full. "Remember," Hits said jokingly after swallowing his food, "solve problem with more problem."

Billy stood up and escorted the giggling Maggie out of the house, telling her she was having too much fun and Mr. Hits was a bad influence.

He came back to find Hits standing up straight, albeit a bit wobbly.

"Damn, man," Billy said surprised, "you heal up quick."

Hits shrugged, twitching in pain at the action. "Gotta get up sometime. Besides, I have to step it out of town. I don't have nearly enough caps to pay Colin. And I imagine Lucas is serious about the reparation crap?"

"Yeah, Jericho payed a hundred an' fifty caps to the Stahls. Nobody is riding his ass. I'd reckon Lucas has some guys waiting for you outside though. Make sure you don't get away, like you just said." Lucas was very serious about keeping law and justice around the town. He didn't only have eccentric tastes about it, dressing up in his sheriff uniform with the big cowboy hat and all. Hits wondered why he didn't stop the fight sooner. He figured Lucas wanted to win a bunch of caps off of Colin. You know, just to shut the man down. Nobody really liked Moriarty.

But when Lucas Simms got serious, like he had now, he made sure shit got done. If he said everyone would get payed back and everybody would get even in a lawful manner, he was going to make sure it happened. Hits didn't find that fact comforting. His currently banged up condition would make it difficult for him to sneak out of town. And he bet if anyone saw him openly leaving they might seriously consider gunning him down. He didn't really want to get gunned down, and he didn't want to have to fight his way out. He liked Megaton, and it's people. He'd either have to find another way out, or play this one by the book.

"Tell them all I'm still sleeping," Hits finally said wearily. "I'm going to have to find a way out of this tomorrow." He laid down and threw the musky green blanket over himself.

"Alright. I'll try to get some people together to help you out man," Billy said as he walked down the stairs, "but I can't make any promises."

Hits grunted and rolled over. He still hurt everywhere. He sighed and began to drift asleep. At least it wasn't one of the crazier days he had had.

Little did he know as he slept, the next day would be absolute shit.

----------------------

Okay, I started this one out pretty calmly compared to the last one. Don't worry, as things will get VERY interesting soon enough. Remember to review, and tell me what you think. I look forward to insight from Coloneljuice, author of Wasteland Sheriff. (Which. You. Should. READ.) and I look forward to enthusiasm from Ocrun.

Alright, have to work on next chapter. Review!


	2. Good Day To You Sir!

Sorry, another 2,000 word quiet one. Don't worry, the wait is worth it.

This one characterizes Hits a bit more though. I kinda like it.

* * *

"_Early in the morning, rising to the street, light me up that cigarette and I'll strap shoes on my feet, dee-de-dee dee dee-OW_!"

The shoe fell to the floor after it's sudden collision with Hits' head.

"No singing," Billy said gruffly and took a bite of his mutfruit. Billy chewed noisily as Hits rubbed his head and scowled at the one-eyed man. But he shut the hell up and took another sip of water.

Maggie just giggled. "Awwww, come on Mr. Hits don't listen to daddy. You know so many cool songs, you should share them. Sharing is caring you know." She said matter of factly.

Hits smiled warmly and wished he could fully enjoy this peaceful moment. Although Billy seemed to have woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, it was still one of the most beautiful days he had seen. He looked out the window again. The sky seemed so clear today, it was usually tinged with a dirty brown dust that kicked up throughout the wasteland.

He turned to her, a fake look of depression on his face. "I'm sorry I can't sing for you Maggie," he said morosely, "I guess you're dads just a...a big meanie face." He said with emphasis. "Noooo," Maggie whined, "he's not a meanie face, he's just grumpy this morning."

Billy grunted and kept eating his breakfast, paying no heed to their conversation. Hits grinned mischievously and looked Maggie dead in the eye. "Why don't you prove it? I bet you can't make him laugh."

Maggie looked comically affronted and crossed her arms. "Oh yeah? How much?"

"Two caps."

"You're on!" she said as she ran over to her dad and started to tickle him.

Hits laughed uproariously as Billy coughed his food out of his mouth in surprise and grinned as Maggie assaulted him. "I'm going to get you back kiddo!" he said as he managed to wrap his arm around his daughter and tickled her armpits with his other hand. She giggled like mad and he laughed as well. Hits watched father and daughter mess around for a couple seconds or so before Billy turned to him. "I'm going to get you back too mate," he warned jokingly before his daughter jumped on his back and hugged him real hard. "I bet you will," Hits responded happily as Billy carried Maggie outside and set her down. Hits watched them from inside, as Billy laughed at all the fanciful adventures Maggie bragged she was going to go on with Harden today. He watched as he told her to be careful, and a he hugged her, as she hugged him back.

"I bet you will," he said sadly.

* * *

A couple hours later Hits limped out of Billy Creels and leaned up against the guard railing. He was on the platform overlooking the whole town below him. The day was very beautiful, but the town looked like shit. Old rusted scrap metal formed the towering walls of Megaton, surrounding the the town with an impenetrable wall of grey and dirty rustic brown. The town itself looked like it was haphazardly strapped together with sheet metal and rope. The houses were made like boxes, the metal plating overlapping each other to form roofs and floors. Steel beams held up alot of the higher levels of the town, such as the large platform he was on. Here was Moriartys Saloon, a crappy place with crappy drinks, but with good people (excluding the bastard barman), Billy Creels place and the mens restrooms. Hits thought it sucked that everyone in town had to use the same facilities, even if they were on the other side of town. To his right was another multi-tiered platform with other residences, the womens bathrooms, and the empty house at the corner far from him. To his right, Craterside Supply, the water house, or whatever it was called. In front of him, far ahead was Lucas Simms place, and below was the undetonated nuke that the town was built around itself. Right next to the Brass Lantern, the Stahls place of business. Hits liked that place more, but nobody he really liked went there.

As crappy and haphazard the town looked, Hits liked the place. It was all pretty laid back most the time, and the color scheme gave it an old town rustic feeling. He hadn't stayed very long at very many places, not like he had here. Rivet City felt far too cramped and big, he always got lost there. And Arefu sucked. There were four houses. Not even comparable to a real town. No, Megaton was the place to be.

He felt a hand grip his shoulder.

"Hello, Hits. Sheriff wants to see you." Came a gruff voice from behind him.

Hits almost freaked, but worked _really _hard to calm down. He didn't even look behind him as he hissed between gritted teeth, "Don't fucking touch me. Got it?"

Whoever it was gripped harder, almost painfully and said more forcefully now, "Sheriff. Wants. To. See. You. Got it?"

Hits was done. Quickly, he shot his elbow back catching the man in the chest, and as the man released his grip and staggered backwards, Hits spun around, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him forward and down slamming his forehead against the railing. The man cried out in pain as he hit the metal floor and clutched his head. Hits calmly bent down and helped him up. Then he flipped the settler over the rail.

The man fell about five feet, hit a metal platform and rolled off the edge, fell another four feet hitting a roof, and rolled of off that falling some more and hitting the ground. He had screamed the whole way.

Hits peered over the edge listening very carefully. The settler groaned from where he lay broken and bloody far below, telling Hits that he didn't have to worry about paying for a funeral. Hits turned away from the railing and began walking towards Nathan and Manyas house, feeling better than when he woke up that morning and considering getting anger management.

Manya waved hello to him as he passed by her bus-house and he smiled and waved hello back. He decided he was in no rush and changed direction.

"Manya, my beautiful lady, how are you this morning?" Hits said extravagantly as he strode up to her. She waved a hand in dismissal.

"Oh, pish-tosh, I'm an old crone with alot of memories. But you, young man, seem to be in a spot of trouble," she said with an air of caution.

Hits studied the old womans features. "Have you seen Simms today? He didn't look too angry did he?"

Manya squinted trying to remember. "No, no, he seemed to be quite annoyed. That little stunt you pulled yesterday," she had to stop as she chuckled a bit at the memory, "that little stunt you pulled created a bit of tension. Speaking of it, you are alright aren't you?" she asked him, her voice full of motherly concern.

Hits smiled and flexed a bicep. "Don't worry about me my lady, I'm a man of steel," he said in a mock baritone. "Oh my, I shouldn't worry about you," she laughed, "but you should get going. I expect Lucas wouldn't like to be kept waiting."

"That he wouldn't," Hits replied, still in the mock superhero voice. He spun around and swaggered away in exaggeration as Manya laughed and waved goodbye.

He trudged down to the second level of the platform and spied Lucy West eating breakfast outside. Lucy West was pale-skinned, blond and totally beautiful. She wore her usual style of mercenary attire, and her hair tied up in a ponytail. Hits puffed out his chest and swaggered over to her and stood straight in a superhero pose.

"Good day to you citizen! Quite a beautiful morning, is it not?" Lucy stared at him confused, and Hits rolled his eyes and stood normally. "Lucy, you never get my weird jokes," he said as he sat down at the other chair.

"Well, Hits," she said with a raised eyebrow,"that's probably because they're freaking weird."

"Your moms freaking weird," he shot back jokingly.

She threw a mutfruit at him.

"So, why breakfast so late?" he asked as he attempted to rub the rest of the mutfruit mush off of his shirt.

"Well, I spent my morning writing a letter to my family in Arefu. Since I didn't get a reply from the last one, I figured I should re-write it. The messenger probably got eaten or something." she said, completely unconcerned. "I'm famished now though. And I wasted my mutfruit on you," she said with a half-serious scowl. Hits stuck his tongue out at her as he scooped some mush off of his shirt and offered it to her. She made a disgusted face and shook her head.

"Well," Hits sighed as he got the last of the mush off, "I'm heading over to Simms place, why don't we stop by the Brass Lantern and I'll get you something?"

He stood up and watched her look at him in disgust. "Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't get my own foo-"

"Lucy. Shut the fuck up and come with me." Hits interrupted and started to walk away.

Lucy watched him go, shocked. Then her stomach rumbled and she decided maybe it was a good idea to take his offer. She got up and ran after him.

* * *

"So what the hell were you thinking yesterday?" Lucy asked Hits after eating another bite of brahmin meat. She had certainly cooled down after getting food in her stomach and was now happily conversational.

"Really? I wasn't. Thinking that is. Well, I guess I kinda was, but it was like...not very clear...or something?" He said eyeing his half-eaten squirrel meat. Where the hell do these people keep finding these squirrels?

"Yeah, I don't get that." she said, a serious look on her face. "No, really. You're sentence made absolutely no sense."

Hits shrugged. "I don't really care." Lucy sighed, exasperated. This guy was impossible. She squirmed in her metal bar stool. Leo should really invest in getting better chairs for this place. The metal was bent and dented in places that made her very uncomfortable. She looked to her left, at the man who bought her breakfast. Well, lunch. Brunch. He seemed to be staring off into space, his face blank except for the furrow in his brow. "Hits," she said and leaned over, snapping her fingers in his face, "Hits wake up." Hits shook himself and looked over at her. "Yeah, whaddya want?"

"Information. About this situation. Why do you have to visit Simms?"

"Moriarty wants caps from me. Lucas is enforcing 'reparations'."

Lucy winced at that. "Jeez, that sucks. How much?"

"Enough," Hits mumbled, "enough to piss me off and make me consider skipping town. Except Simms is having me followed."

She looked surprised as he tilted his head toward the back of the room. She turned around ever so slightly and saw one of the settlers leaning against the wall next to the entrance, watching them. He wasn't even trying to look inconspicuous as he spied on them. He wore the usual settler outfit, brahmin hide and some boots. Plain-faced, bushy beard. Looked tough.

"Haven't you made yourself popular?" Lucy said smugly as she turned back around.

Hits flipped her off and she giggled. His inconvenience was her entertainment.

"Yeah, well, I better head over to his place before I have to hurt another one of his thugs. The last bastard ended up falling almost two stories. See you later Ms. West."

Hits left some caps on the bar table and stood up. He turned around and saw an angry looking Jericho brandishing a knife.

"Well, hello there Big J. Hope your day is as pleasant as mine has been," Hits said cheerily.

Jericho gave him a sardonic smirk before raising the knife and rushing him.


	3. Trying To Intimidate

**Okay, when you read this chapter think of Celebrity Jeopardy. If you haven't seen it, look it up first.**

"Fuck." was all Hits could say.

Jericho lunged, swinging his knife in quick, precise jabs. Hits swung his body wait away from the deadly blade, but not before suffering a shallow cut on this bridge of his nose, and a deeper one on his cheek. Colliding with the bar, Hits pushed himself left and spun away kicking aside the bar stools that tripped him up. He dived into an ungraceful forward roll, bruising his shoulder pretty badly on a blunt table leg. Jericho pursued. He however, didn't decide to dance and roll around. Jericho lifted the table in his way and chucked it at his target. Hits dropped himself to the ground as the table passed, but he was a little too late and it clipped his forehead pretty good. On the ground, a little dizzy and disoriented, and with blood from his forehead blinding him a bit he said, "Jericho, can we _please _talk this out?"

In response Jericho picked up a beer bottle with his free hand, smashed it on the bar giving himself a new little weapon, and slowly stalked over to Hits with a murderous gleam in his eyes. Hits only partially saw this and said, "That's bullshit dude, I don't even have _one._"

Jericho snorted and walked closer as Hits backed away from the angry ex-raider in a crab walk. Hits grunted in pain as his hand collided with the hard surface of a stool. Quickly, he shot up to stand and picked up the stool holding it between Jericho and himself. Hits jabbed it forward at Jericho, threatening to poke him with the business end of his stool. Jericho laughed.

"Man, you don't know when to quit kiddin' around, do you?"

"Your mom doesn't know when to stop kidding around," Hits retorted, and bodily spun around to increase the momentum of his weapon. He swung the stool at full force at Jerichos knife arm, so quickly that Jericho didn't have time to retract the limb. He was caught right on the wrist, surprising him enough to drop his blade. He swore angrily, and rushed Hits with the raised fist of his good arm.

Jericho used to be a raider. He survived enough scrapes and won enough fights to keep him alive long enough to retire. Very rare for a raider, the position they put themselves in pretty much makes them a target for every non-raider in the wasteland. It even made them targets of their own kind, becase raiders knew no code of honor, no set of laws. They would kill each other in a heartbeat. So it was basically unheard of for any raider to be able to retire at middle-age.

But Jericho knew how shit got done. He knew the laws of battle intimately, was toughened out from the hundreds of fights he's been in. He knew exactly where to stab someone to cause the most pain. He knew where to hit someone barehanded to kill them instantly. In this fight, Jericho had everything going for him except for one thing.

He wasn't Hits.

As Jericho came at Hits for a strong punch in the face, Hits dropped the stool and spun away from the punch. Turning his head, his body followed, rotating around fast enough so that his backhand fist would cause the most damage to Jericho's ear. Jericho saw it coming and ducked. What he didn't see was Hits raised knee following the backhand. Jericho thrust himself away from both Hits well-aimed attacks, just to get struck in the face from Hits next fist. Jericho thought he coud recover, regardless of the distracting pain. But Jericho was done. The second the ex-raider allowed Hits to distract him, at least for a second, he was finished. Hits spun again, thrusting his elbow out at an insane speed, hitting Jericho on his cheekbone. Next was an open palm uppercut to Jerichos chin, then a hard punch into Jericho stomach, heading directly into his diapraghm. After that, Jericho was so winded he hardly registered when Hits grabbed him by his leather armor and bodily tossed him into the bar wall.

With a splintering crash, the wall collapsed where Jericho collided with it, and he continued out of the building until he hit the dirt, rolling to dusty, bloody stop. He gasped for air, still in pain after the brutal gut punch. He was surprised when he saw the broken beer bottle in his hand, as he struggled to stand up. Somehow, he managed to hold onto it during that beating he got. Hits jumped through the brand new hole in the wall to make sure that Jericho was down for the count.

Jericho stood up completely straight with the last of his strength, and jabbed the broken glass right into Hit's torso. Hits had forgotten about Jericho's makeshift weapon, and he was shocked when he felt the cold glass slide into his ribcage. He screamed in pain, and flailed at Jericho's rigid arm, holding the glass in place. With a satisfying snap, his arm broke at the elbow. This time Jericho cried out, dropping to the ground clutching his broken arm, followed shortly by Hits who was staunching the blood flow from his side.

Hits's conscious self swam as he attempted to assess the damage to himself. He was completely focused on the pain in his side, where the beer bottle shattered and a large sliver of glass embedded itself. As he ripped off part of his shirt with his teeth and pressed it against his bloody side, he was vaguely aware of Jericho limping away and citizens of Megaton curiously gathering around. The ones who saw what happened told the newcomers what had happened to Leo Stahl's wall, and the newcomers eyes turned to Hits as they saw him medicating himself.

Lucy West popped her head out of the hole in the wall, looking around to see where the two combatants went. She almost gagged when she saw Hits. He was in bad shape.

"Hits! Oh my God, are you alright?" she asked worriedly as she scrambled over the wall and knelt by him.

"NO!" he growled as he winced in pain, "do I look like I'm going to fucking be alright? You could replace the water in Megaton with the amount of blood I got here-DAMNIT!"

Lucy flinched at his loud outburst, brought on by the fact that she tried to help by putting pressure on the bloody cloth. "I'll go get Church..."

"No, drag me over to the bomb," he countered, gasping for air now. He was beginning to feel light-headed.

"What?" Lucy asked, thinking she must have clearly misheard.

"Drag me over to the bomb pool. Make sure no one else sees," he added gruffly, glaring over at the little crowd gathered by the Brass Lantern.

They continued to gossip, and look over at him.

"Don't you douchebags have anything better to do?!" he yelled over at them as he held his side. The mini-crowd relented, and went into the Brass Lantern to talk about what happened.

"Okay, anyway, I'm pretty sure Jericho hit you a little too hard on the head. We need to get to Doc Church Hits, let's go," she said as she attempted to lift him.

He could've killed her right then and there. He held back an agonizing scream, and hissed at her through gritted teeth, "I have a FUCKING stash of stimpaks in the bomb. Remember the day I disarmed it? I figured it'd be a safe place. Now get me over there!"

Lucy hesitantly dragged Hits the short way to the bomb, and they both looked around.

"Confessor is usually here at this time," Lucy wondered out loud, as she genty lay Hits by the bomb pool. He struggled to sit up.

"Okay," he panted, "I need you to get me purified water, a med-x and some squirrel bits. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Fine, then go! Hurry up!"

As she ran off Hits looked around to make sure no one was looking, rolled his eyes, and threw himself into the irradiated pool.

---------------

"Alright, I got the stuff," Lucy said as she jogged up, holding the crap Hits had asked for. She had to pay Moira fifteen caps for the med-x, Andy Stahl five caps for the squirrel bits, and she had to wrestle a con-bum outside Megaton for the purified water. That guy had so much water after tricking people to give him some, she figured he could spare one. She hoped he enjoyed his black eye.

But she found Hits drenching wet, holding some stimpaks and looking perfectly fine. He flipped a stimpak in the air with a flick of his wrist and caught it with a grin.

"Thanks for getting this stuff Luce," as he strolled by nonchalantly and grabbed the purified water. She watched him take a big gulp of the stuff and let out a satisfied "aaaah" in near-shock. He took a bite of the squirrel bits as she attempted to stammer out a million questions at once. "Bu-but you were...and...and...blood.."

"Yeah, I heal up easy. Except for here," he pointed at the cuts on his nose and forehead. "But, those ain't so bad."

"You were almost _dying_....."

"Yes, yes I know. But I'm okay now, and that's all that matters."

"But, but what about the water and the fight and...you had a shard of glass in you!"

"Once again, thanks for getting that stuff," he cut her off, "So, I have to go see the sheriff now, but I'm thinking dinner tonight. On me," he said, smiling at her. He glanced past her a moment and his smile grew the tiniest bit wider. "Oh, and thanks for covering me about...ah...yah know. Leo's wall."

As he ran off, she pondered what he was talking about before turning around and seeing a Jericho-shaped hole in the Brass Lantern and a very pissed off looking Leo who had just realized the "damages" that everyone in town had been recently talking about.

Lucy sighed in defeat.

That guy was impossible.

-------

Sheriff Simm's house. It was tall. There was a cool looking lookout thingy at the top of it. Made of of airplane pieces (like the rest of the town), it looked complicated and well made. Hits wondered how much it cost him to make it. He probably used his sheriffy privileges to get everyone to help him. Bastard.

Hits hated authority figures.

He hopped over a pipe and walked up to the door, thinking about buying his own place and making it better looking than Simm's house. You know, just for a subtle 'fuck you!'

He mentally readied himself before raising a fist, and gently rapping his knuckles against the metal door. Each hit made a hollow clanking sound. Hits guessed Simm's went cheap for his doors. Unwise, a full steel door would grant him the most protection lest any unhappy raider-types decided to riddle his door with bullets and knock it down. Hits chuckled, half in disappointment but quickly shut up when the door slowly swung open. Holding the door was a rough-looking guard type that looked like if he wanted to, could cleanly lift Hits up and shove him down a toilet. Hits hoped he wouldn't do that. So he smiled, which the man replied to with an angry grimace, which Hits replied to with a cheery middle finger.

Hits enjoyed the little pleasures in life.

The man growled something vague and theatening to him, but Hits didn't hear it because he wasn't listening. He simply walked through the open door, seeing Moriarty, Simms, and a few guards in the living room. He flung himself down on a musky, ancient couch and snapped his fingers at one of the mean-looking guards. The guard stared at him, confused, as everyone else in the room just watched him. Hits furrowed his eyebrows and snapped his fingers again.

"What. Are you doing?" Simms asked him finally, looking very annoyed.

"Aren't your manservants supposed to get drinks for guests?"

Everyone refered to as a 'manservant' got pissed.

"They aren't manservants Hits-"

"Well, then," Hits laughed, "Your 'butlers' aren't very attentive. Kind sir," he said in his best British accent, now at the nearest settler-guard, "I would very much like a nuka-cola and some squirrel bits. You should get them posthaste!" The man looked like he wanted to rip Hits' arms off, and kept looking at him to Simms and back.

"Chop-chop now," Hits said, clapping impatiently.

"Would you shut the fuck up, Hits? Can't you see you're pissing the poor man off?" Colin Moriarty cut in, his irish accent echoing in the room as he yelled at Hits. He had used his super-bartender sensing skills to detect a fight coming. Hits turned his attention to Colin, and he grinned mischeviously. In his best Sean Connery impression he responded, "Oh, I'll play your game, you rogue. Fine then, I'll stop harassing the lad."

"Okay, that's enough!" Simms stood up and yelled silencing everyone in the room. Except for Hits, because, you know, he can't keep his mouth shut.

He shot up defiantly and countered in his impression, "I'll say when enoughs enough you montebank! Just like I did with your mother last night."

Everyone in the room stared at him in momentary shock. Hits laughed, just like on that video he found on an old computer.

Thank God for SNL Celebrity Jeopardy.

"For the sake of peace in this meeting," Simms said, seething on the inside, almost whispering his words, "I'm going to ignore that comment."

Hits sat down, crossed his legs and lay back, folding his arms. "Then let's get on with it lad, I ain't got all day."

"First of all, you will shut the fuck up," Simms said commandingly, "And quit it with that accent. We are here to discuss your reparations with Colin Moriarty."

At this he signaled to Colin to stand up and speak. The irishman glared at Hits and spoke. "Doc Church charged me two hundred caps to fix my nose. With that, on top of the fact you attacked me at all, I want three hundred caps in return."

Hits stopped himself from screaming girlishly in shock, and instead maintained an air of aloofness. He stared right back at Moriarty. Stupid Moriarty with his silly bandaged nose and his pretty prostitutes and his awesome accent. Hits wanted to punch him in the face right there.

"Is Simms in agreement?"

"Yes, our good sheriff decided that three hundred was a good amount to pay me back."

Hits resisted setting Simms house on fire. But just barely. Instead, he gave.

"Fine. When?"

"Now."

"WHAT?!" Hits yelled, standing up now. That was the last straw. "Do I look like I run around with three hundred caps? What the hell man, at least give me a few days!"

Simms started to say something but was drowned out by Hits' ranting.

"I mean, if I had three hundred caps, I would've used it to bribe one of your dumbass guards here to let me skip town! Do I look like the person who likes owing people money? NO! The second I heard about your damn 'reparations' I wanted to shove a bottle of Remy Martins down your throat, and run like hell!" he yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Simms.

"Are you quite finished?" Simms asked.

"Nope, I got one more thing to say," Hits said turning around and standing tall. He yelled loudly at everyone in the room, "FUCK yo momma's shit."

Everyone glared at him. He shrugged.

"Okay, now I'm done."

-------------------------------------------

Next Chapter coming soon. Maybe.


	4. Damnit, okay

"Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit..." Hits muttered as he swung open the sheet metal door. Tenderly nursing his wounds from the day, he moaned and groaned as he slowly walked up the stairs in Billy Creel's house. He threw himself on the bed and waited, wishing for a nice Nova or a Lucy to share his bed with him. He breathed in deeply, and exhaled a long sigh. Then he fumbled one hand around in his pack to grab his Pip-Boy to se the time. He pulled it out and sighed again. Five o'clock. It was near enough to dinner to edit a nap out of his schedule.

He hesitated greatly before getting up off of the bed, and dragging himself over to what could be vaguely described as a bathrom. He looked at himself in a grimy mirror. He blinked, shook his head, and looked again. There was a nasty gash on his cheek that was scabbed over but it looked a little fresh. On his forehead was an abrasion surrounded by an ugy purple bruise. On the bridge of his nose was another cut, this one pretty shallow. Still looked like it could scar.

On the bright side his eyes had bags under them from loss of sleep (he was in pain all last night), and his nose still looked pretty tender. He carefully nudged it to make sure. Yeah, yeah that hurt like hell.

Next time he saw Jericho, he'd make sure the ex-raider wouldn't leave the fight without having at _least_ two broken legs. If an arm or a neck was thrown in, he'd be a happy man. Hits glanced at his reflection again and cringed. He hoped his date tonight liked blood and bruises. Hits walked over to his pack, took out some of the purified water Lucy gave him, and splashed himself with it. He tried his best to make himself look good until Billy walked in the front door with Maggie.

"Hey man, heard about the fight. Two in two days huh?" Billy called up the stairs.

Hits poked his head out over the railing, still dripping wet.

"Yep. I'm gonna go for four next time. Got any towels?"

"Towels?"

"Yeah. English for _toalla_?"

"Don't throw no chinese words around Hits. Don't know where you came from but we wasters don't get all that much education in other languages," he heard Billy say.

Hits stopped himself from laughing. "Actually that was spanish amigo. Silly waster. Don't gots no edumacation."

He could almost hear the middle finger he was getting from Billy. "So, what the hell is up with you and Jericho?"

Hits swabbed the cut on his cheek, cleaning it as best he could. "Nothing. He just decided he wanted to play a game."

Maggie reached the top of the stairs, almost surprising Hits. "A game? I doubt Mr. Jericho likes games," she said.

Hits shook his head while cleaning his cuts, which he thought was quite a feat. "Nope, he really liked this game. It was called 'poke Hits with sharp things until he bleeds alot and goes nappy-nap forever.'"

Maggie 'ohed' in understanding. Then she ran off to the corner and brought Hits back a couple clean rags.

"Thanks Mag," he said. He dried himself off and lay back on his bed. Watching Billy arrive out of the corner of his eye. Billy walked up to his bed and looked down at him, looking like he was concentrating on something.

Hits' eyebrow rose in question.

"It's just," Billy sighed, "you're having it pretty rough man. I feel for yah."

"Thanks Bill. Wanna know what you could do to help?"

"Sure man, anything."

"Could, uh, could you not stare at me, and could you get Lucy West over here? I've got to talk to her, and I'd rather not walk there. Being half beat to death and all..."

Billy rolled his eyes and gave Hits a thumbs up as he walked downstairs and out the door. Hits relaxed and spread out comfortably on his bed.

"Hey Mag? Are you and your dad doing anything tonight?" he asked her, looking over at where she was reading a book. She looked thoughtful for a second.

"Well, daddy was gonna drop me off at Hardens to play, and then go to dinner with a settler girl he met. Why?"

"Just cause I might need this place to be empty tonight," he said with a shrug.

Maggie giggled. "Think you're gonna score huh?"

Hits did a doubletake and looked at her astonished. "Maggie, do you even know what that means?"

"Nope. I just heard one of the men in town say it today. What DOES it mean?" she asked innocently.

"None of your business," he said, slightly relieved. He'd leave "the talk" to the girl's father.

They lounged around for a good half hour, playing checkers and listening to some holotapes Billy had. Hits decided to read Maggie a story, but after going through the bland pre-war books he decided it'd be better if he shot some nuka-cola bottles from the other side of the room. He was pretty sure Billy wouldn't mind the mess. Maggie was awed by Hits shooting prowess, he hit every bottle he aimed at. And the room was fairly big too.

Hits had always been a good shot. For as long as he can remember anyway, and that wasn't very long. He didn't try very hard, it was like his muscles automatically made him able to lock on to whatever he was looking at. And he had reeaally good eyesight. Once after some practice shooting, he told a friend of his, Charles Numan, exactly where his .50 cal. bullet ended up. Charles didn't believe him naturally. It was a long sniper shot, and his was aimed just below the horizon. A days trek later and the bullet was right where Hits said it would be. Hits regrets thinking about Charles. Charles ended up attempting to betray him, and Numan's life was ended by one of Hit's very own Barret .50 cal. THAT was a messy headshot.

Billy and Lucy arrived to Maggie daring Hits to shoot off Sheriff Simm's hat from the other side of town.

"Hits wouldn't do that Mags, he's in enough trouble as it is," Billy said walking up the stairs. He paused when he saw the smoking bullet holes in his wall and the shattered nuka-cola bottles everywhere. He sighed and took a swig of the nuka-cola he already had. Hits shrugged apologetically.

"What did you expect? You left me in your house with nothing to do."

"I shoulda taken your guns man. You better clean up this damn mess," Billy growled as he pulled up a chair and sat down. Lucy walked up right after him, looking at the destruction Hits made. Lucy glared at him. "Seriously Hits, do you like to piss everyone off? Or is screwing over you friends a hobby on the side?"

"Billy," Hits cut her off, "don't you have a date in an hour?"

Billy cursed. "Come on Maggie, you're gonna hang out at Hardens for a while." They walked down the stairs and left, Billy almost slammed his metal door shut.

Hits turned back to the pissed Lucy. "Lucy, I'm sorry I made you cover for the wall-thing okay? My life has sucked the last two days and... I just haven't been thinking clearly."

Lucy shook her head, she was still mad. "No, Hits. I had to listen to Leo bitch for hours." She stood up, anger glaring down at the Hits on the bed.

"Then after all that you send Billy away and expect me to have dinner with you? What the hell were you thinking of next?"

Hits looked away sheepishly and murmured something.

"WHAT?" Lucy yelled, mockingly sticking her ear out and cupping it.

"I thought maybe we could have fun-time tonight.." Hits said, looking back up and grinning. Lucy stared at him in shock, and then turned to leave. "I'm out of here. Don't expect any help from me anymore."

Hits groaned and pulled himself out of the bed, almost collapsing from the pain of standing up.

"Wait, Lucy I was kidding I swear! You know me, I don't know when to shut up." Lucy ignored him as she reached the bottom of the stairwell and approached the door.

Hits leaned painfully against the guardrail. "Seriously, Lucy I need you. I swear I'll tell Leo the wall was my fault or.."

"Hits," Lucy said forcefully, opening the door. "You're a self-absorbed asshole. I don't like you, and I don't care. Goodbye."

"No! Lucy," Hits began taking a step toward the stairs. He miscalculated the step though. "I-AAAGH!" he yelled in surprise as his foot found empty air.

He fell down the stairs, his leg buckling under him as it hit the second step with unexpected force. After he hit his head on somehting everything became secondary. Every collision with every hard surface brought the pain of all his wounds from the last two days back with a vengeance. When he hit the bottom, he was already passed out.

* * *

_Life sucks, _was Hits first conscious thought.

His second was, _I'm hungry. I wonder if Lauren_ _is going to share her lunch with me again today?_

Third: _Wait who's Lauren? And where am I?_

After that his eyes opened. Rusted metal. That's what he saw above him, or what he thought was above him. He still didn't have the presence of mind to tell if he was standing up or laying down. Or laying up. Maybe he was laying down on the ceiling staring at the floor. Or laying sideways on the wall looking at the other wall. His head hurt.

And that muffled yelling sound wasn't helping. He thought it was coming to his left. Or right. He could be upside down still, which meant reversing his lefts and rights. In any case, he turned his head to the left, to his left. Pretty, blonde, gagged girl.

First thought: _I want to touch._

Second thought: _Isn't that Lucy?_

Third: _Bitch. Still want to touch though._

"Hey, uhm Lucy?" he managed to cough out. He assumed he wasn't gagged. Lucy's eyes expressed relief. Good. Hits liked relief. Did that mean he was just relieved? He liked that.

"Lucy, I've got a question. Am I on the ceiling, on the wall, on the floor, or standing up?" he said hoarsely, truly curious as to what position his body was in.

Lucy furrowed her eyebrows and her eyes flashed anger. Oh dear, that was unfortunate. Hits felt a little less relieved. He was really curious though, because he couldn't tell. The room he was in was very bare. In fact besides him and Lucy, it'd be an empty room. A naked room. Hits giggled to himself at that. Naked was a funny word.

Suddenly, the sound of a door bursting open collided with Hits ears. Hits inclined his head and was a bit releived to see Moriarty and some of his goons walk in through the door. Relieved because he really didn't want to be on the ceiling. Hits smiled triumphantly. He had finally figured out he was laying on the floor. Or else Moriarty and his posse would be walking upside down, and that just didn't happen.

"You awake yet boy?" Moriarty asked him as he approached. Hits was still dazed, wondering if there was a possibility people can walk upside down. Moriarty frowned. "He's still a bit groggy lads. Pour some cold water on him, that should wake him up."

Moments later Hits was dripping wet, freezing, and didn't care if people could walk on ceilings. "Hey douchebag, how are yah?" Hits asked him.

Moriarty laughed. "Now that's the Hits I know. I'm fine, you feeling better?"

"Loads. Now what the hell?"

Moriarty waited a moment, savoring it. "Well, my buddies here were sent to Creel's place to collect you. Fortunately they arrived right after your incident with the stairs."

Hits groaned. "They probably wouldn't have had much of a challenge anyway. I was good and fucked."

"Well, no matter how fucked you are, I've decided that I'm going to help you get those two hundred caps," Moriarty stated simply. Hits raised an eyebrow.

"You see, there's this wench in Springvale. Silver. She owes me alot of caps. About the same amount as you. But, she has two hundred all her own. So, simply find a way to get all of them and your debt and hers are null and void." he ended smugly.

"Well, that was awfully easy to get your help. So I'll ask again. What the hell?" Hits asked, this time with some anger behind the question.

Moriarty sighed. "Silver took off with my money. I didn't treat it as a simple theft, I figured it a betrayal. That's personal. I want her hurting. Or dead. Either way, I don't care. I just want what is mine. I'll even shave off that extra hundred caps I asked for. So it'll be just the two hundred."

"And what exactly is keeping me from saying no?" Hits asked him.

Moriarty looked surprised. "Didn't you see your lovely lass over here?" he pointed to Lucy. "She's our hostage boyo."

Hits looked over at her. He had forgotten she was there. "Ah. Well, then I'm going to go ahead and say yes then," Hits said, beaten.

Moriarty smiled. Hits felt alot less relieved.

* * *

**Ugh, this one felt like crap. Review all of you non-reviewing meanies. Please? Seriously, just do it. **

**No seriously. Really, I really need them.**


	5. When The Doors Of Life Are Rusted

If Hits was ever truly prepared to kill someone, it was now. He stalked towards the giant airplane metal doors of Megaton, fists clenched, gritted teeth and breathing heavily. It was now completely dark, the night had invaded the beautiful day sky Hits had marveled at in the morning. Pretty much just like the anger and hatred and frustration from all the crap that happened over the past couple days had invaded Hits' mind.

As he approached the doors exiting into the capital wasteland, he winced in pain and clutched his right arm. His hand was quivering badly, muscles distending and contracting oddly. He fiercely clenched and unclenched his hand, willing control back into it. He needed...energy. Bad.

He shivered and continued to the doors. The gates were large, and there were two of them. The first one, coming from the outside, consisted of two plane wings jury-rigged to be pulled up and open by a single turbine. When Hits first came to Megaton, they made a big spectacle to show it off. The second gate was just two big plain metal doors. Nothing special. They were both ancient and rust covered like the rest of the town. Pushing open one of the big doors, Hits mourned at the thought that they didn't put any grease on whatever hinges it had. Damn thing stuck seven times, causing agony for Hits' muscles. He left the door open as he left Megaton. No need to close it, he didn't really care if anything got in tonight.

He navigated his way to Springvale.

The distance between Megaton and Springvale was almost nonexistant. Sloping hills, rocky crags, and the copious amount of boulders all spilled around the area hampering a direct view of the wrecked town. On his way he passed some piles of rank garbage, a putrid puddle of radioactive water, and a few charred skeletons of trees. He could see the outline of the red rocket from the Red Rocket gas station in Springvale, it's dark, pointed form just visible over the boulders in his path. As he passed the last rocky outcropping, he saw the remnants of what was once a peaceful American town. The skeletons of the houses hung menacingly over the streets, casting more shadows where there was already too many. The wind blew through them fiercely at night, and the odd burned out and destroyed forms of the houses warped the noise of the swift breeze into the soundtrack of nightmares. By day the long abandoned ruins were peaceful and lonely. By night they were threatening and imposing.

Hits shivered and dug into his pack for his Pip-Boy 3000. He switched the light on and held it aloft, moving through the cracked and upturned asphalt of the streets. He had been here a few times by day, and he knew where the ruined buildings were by memory. He crossed the street, moving away from the Red Rocket gas station where a lone Nuka-Cola machine feebly blinked it's red lights. He gingerly stepped over a partially destroyed white picket fence and into an old playground. Passing by the rusted swing set and into the next yard, he noticed how the most toys in the town were in that front yard.

Maybe, long-ago, the children made a pact to keep all their toys in a central place so they could all go play together. Maybe one family spoiled their children rotten and made them the envy of the rest of the neighborhood. His ideas churned as he passed through a trio of burnt-out, long-dead trees. He sighed as he kept moving. It doesn't matter what the story really was all those years ago. No one would ever know anyway. Everyone's history here was wiped out in searing flame. All dead, everything was dead in the wastes. That's why he liked cities where there were people and things going on. He liked having things happen. Out here...even when you had a buddy at your side it still felt lonely.

He paused by an ancient nuclear powered car when he glimpsed a light in the house ahead of him. His heart sped up and he walked quickly to the front door. He almost stumbled and tripped at the porch, where he wasn't expecting a step. He was feeling really weak now, he needed to lie down. Fast.

Hits hoped Silver wasn't a bitch, and he knocked on the door three times.

Immediately after, he heard some bumping and rustling from inside the house. Silver was probably getting up from bed or something.

At the thought of bed, a wave of dizziness hit Hits hard. He staggered as his vision swam with white and purple dots, and suddenly his ears felt like they were stuffed with cotton. He saw the door open and a light shine down at him.

"Could I stay the night please?" he said before he saw black and knew no more.

* * *

_"You're so hot right now," the young man said, staring in awe at his girlfriend. She was holding a perfectly refurbished pre-war gaming system with a little red bow on top. And resting next to the bow was a small bowl of freshly made chocolate chip cookies. _

_She smiled and set the gift down on his table."Shut up baby, I know it," she teased. He looked at her, then at the gift, then back at her. A game system, cookies, and her in the same room? He moved towards her quickly, sweeping her up in his arms and hugging her tightly. "All I need for my birthday is you babe. But I sure do appreciate the other stuff," he said with a smile. _

_She giggled. "I knew you would. But, maybe I can have a present on your birthday too?"_

_He pulled away smiling. "Anything you want. Name it."_

_She moved closer, pressing herself against him. "I want.." she whispered as she moved closer...  
_

"Who are you, why are you here, and why shouldn't I blow your fucking brains out?" Silver demanded poking the muzzle of her 32. caliber pistol closer to Hits' face. Hits had of course woken up groggy and not knowing what the fuck was going on. He couldn't remember who he was, or why he was waking up in a strange bed. For a few seconds anyway. But he definitely knew that she shouldn't blow his brains out because...well, because he _really _liked his brains where they were.

"Can you give me a couple seconds to work on the answers to those?" he asked rather meekly, "besides the last one. You shouldn't kill me because I like living. And you want the answers to the first two questions. So can you pretty please lower that gun?"

Silver scowled at him and backed off a bit. She didn't lower the gun.

Hits yawned quietly and stretched slowly. He took a quick glance around the room. Small area, some shelves with junk and drugs on them, a wardrobe, a table, some booze, and a doorway leading to another room. He thought it looked cozy. He eyed her angry glare and debated telling her the truth. He thought it over.

Moriarty was blackmailing him to take all her money. Hits could easily turn this whole situation into his own favor.

His brief planning session was interrupted by Silver. "Well?!" she yelled, startling Hits slightly. Hits looked up at her.

She was pretty, slim, and she had silver hair. Her features were similar to the attractive blonde girls in some preserved magazines he had found while scavving one day. She wore a worn brown hoodie with pockets on the sides and some tight-fitting canvas pants. Her eyes were shifty, always wary. She looked fierce and quick to anger. She was a rather intimidating individual.

"My name is Hits," he finally began in a calm, level voice. "Don't get mad, because I'm not going to follow through with it, but Moriarty sent me out here to collect some money you "owe" him," he said, emphasizing the "owe" with his fingers. "Not. Going. To. Take. Your money," he added forcefully. Well, as forcefully as he could laying half naked and weakened in a bed. Silver's eyes narrowed, leering down at Hits.

"How the hell am I supposed to trust you? I hate Moriarty, that bastard would send another lying asshole to get what he wants," she growled, edging the gun closer to Hits' face.

"I could tell you that I hate the bastard too. Side note, why don't I have a shirt on?"

"You hate Moriarty too?" Silver asked, keeping the gun level. Hits sighed.

"Yes, he's blackmailing me to do this. Keeping a friend of mine hostage, threatening her death, the standard bad guy stuff."

"Once again, how the hell am I supposed to-"

"Because I'm going to bring the fucker down!" Hits yelled. "You know more about him, I'll assume, you can help!"

Silver watched him closely, scrutinizing as if trying to see any deception in Hits' words. Apparently she didn't because she set the gun down on a shelf and picked up a bottle of vodka and handed it to him. Then, with Hits' sitting there on the bed in slight surprise holding the bottle, she walked to the other side of the room and went through the door way. He heard her sifting through clattering junk before she returned holding two acceptably clean shot glasses. She set them down on the shelf next to Hits, pulled up an old chair and sat down, and took the bottle from Hits.

"So," she began as she popped the bottle open and poured the drink into the glasses, "tell me how exactly you plan to ruin my old employers life?"

"You worked for him?" Hits asked when she gave him a glass.

"Yeah, I was one of his whores. Made me work every day and night."

"So, why is he telling me you stole his money?"

"Greedy motherfucker wouldn't give me my damn share of the caps! He'd say that my profits were automatically used to pay for food and rent. Like hell! I made more money than what was spent on a moldy bed and mutfruit for breakfast, lunch and dinner."

She paused, literally shaking in anger at the memory. "So one night, I break into his safe, take my fair share of the caps, and ditch town. I found this house after sleeping around in the ruins for a couple nights."

She looked around her home and smiled. "Yep, only had to kick in a couple old boards to open it up. Then I set about the town finding supplies to insulate and repair. Nice end result right?"

"Yeah, I was just thinking about how cozy it was," Hits said, and sipped his drink. Damn it was strong. "But back to your question. You wanted to talk about my devious schemes?"

"Yes! I want to hear how you're going to end him!"

"Well, I'm not going to kill him. Yet."

Hits told her his ideas. She enjoyed them, although she was a little disappointed Moriarty wasn't going to die.

"So, I start out by giving you all my caps?" she asked.

"Yeah, but I'm going to give you my two guns. Your little insurance policy if something happens."

She thought about it. "Okay," she decided minutes later, "We'll trade. But you're going to have to stay the night."

"Why?" he asked, suddenly defensive.

"Because hon," she began, an evil smile spreading across her face, "Your shirt was off this morning because I was admiring. And the fact you're not an asshole kind of turns me on when you add it to the fact you're all hunky."

Hits' eyes widened in surprise.

Silver laughed. "If you weren't all dark and sexy tan you'd be blushing right now wouldn't you?" She leaned back on her chair and crossed her legs. "Honey, you're injured and weakened. And I've been out here by myself for a while. Besides, I've got to 'take care' of you."

Hits at first didn't like the idea. This was really fast, even for him. But she was hot, so it was okay. "Silver, babe, you just caught me by surprise."

She smiled and got up, pushing him closer to the bed. Then, a fucking raider kicked in the door and threw a grenade in.

"Shit." Hits swore.


	6. Anarchy

The grenade hit the wall and bounced to the floor.

"I'm getting a little FUCKING pissed off!" Hits roared as he leapt at the activated grenade. He quickly kicked it into the other room before grabbing the stunned Silver, kicking her bed over, and shoving her onto the floor beneath it. He dropped the bed as soon as the grenade went off.

The shockwave tore through the wall separating the kitchen and living room, knocking Hits off his feet and into the wardrobe behind him. Glass shattered and cut into his skin as the wardrobe buckled beneath the force. Appliances and knick knacks from the shelves clattered off and the few candles Silver had lit were knocked from the table.

As Hits recovered from the stunning blast, he focused on the pain of the glass digging into his back. He gritted his teeth as he painfully reached from in the broken shamble of wood, gripping the sides of the wardrobe and pulling himself out. Silver moaned something about her kitchen but Hits wasn't listening. He growled and got to his feet awkwardly. He hissed a sharp stream of breath, exhaled the pain and frustration from his days of ordeal. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists.

Then he limped to the strewn open door just as the raider popped his head in to look around.

Hits punched him in the face, resulting in the nice little crunching and popping noise of the bastard's nose breaking. The man cried out in pain and stumbled back but Hits was right behind him. With a surge of strength, he grabbed the man by the back of his leather armor and pulled him towards the house, slamming his head into the wooden wall. Grabbing the moaning mans head for a better grip, he forced the mans cranium into the wall over and over again, the wall splintering and cracking more and more under each assault by the guy's forehead. Hits pulled the raider back, his head and face streaming with blood, but the man wasn't dead yet. He muttered weakly to Hits, begging for mercy.

Hits flipped him around, grabbed the back of his neck and forced the man's head down whilst bringing his knee up. He slammed the man's face into his knee just as he had slammed it into the wall. Over and over again, Hits heard the dull thud and felt the bones of his skull cracking and splintering under the unrelenting assault of Hits' kneecap. After a few seconds, the man's face was pulp, blood and gore flying from his face freely and splattering Hits' clothes and streaming down onto the ground. He gripped the top of the dead mans head and pulled the corpse up to eye level.

"Holy...holy shit," Hits heard from behind him. He dropped the corpse and as it landed with a shuddering thud he slowly turned around. Circling him were five other raiders, all wielding automatic submachine guns. All of them were staring at their dead friend, eyes wide open and fearful from the gory show they had just witnessed. Hits quickly picked up the corpse with hardly any effort and held it in front of him as one of the raiders started to yell the order to fire.

Hits moved fast, running towards the cover of the nuclear car in the yard. Bullets tore into the dead man's body, cutting apart the already mutilated corpse. He felt the force of the bullets hitting his meat shield, almost staggering him as he reached the car. Dropping the body, he dived over the hood of the vehicle and rolled when he hit the dirt behind it.

The _ping _and _clang_ sound of the car being hit by automatic fire irritated Hits' ears, until he heard a small explosion _inside _the car and felt heat emanating from the core of the ancient vehicle. Hits smiled.

"Okay you monster!" he heard a shout when the assault ended, "we are going to kill you good anyway, so you might as well stand up now."

"Fuck you!" Hits yelled as he pushed himself to a crouch and got his hands under the car.

He put all his force into it, all the will that led him to where he was today.

From being completely lost, from the confusion and pain that accompanied the loneliness of having no one.

To the strength to find help, to survive, to live.

As he grunted, then screamed in rebellion of all the evil bastards, all the shit that had been heading his way, he pulled up, up, up...

And the nuclear car went where he directed it to go.

With a creaking, scraping reluctance, the car lifted upwards a few feet until it got into a position where Hits could lift down again...and lift it over his head.

The raiders were so surprised they couldn't react. The gaped in awe as they watched the freak, the murderer, the beast in front of them.

"Die," Hits hissed, his voice raw with hate and poison. Then he threw the goddamn car at the raiders.

It landed with a mechanical, halting crash twenty meters away, right in front of the raiders. Then it exploded with unholy force, the bright light blinding Hits before he could see the miniature mushroom cloud or feel the pressure wave that knocked him on his back. The raiders died in a burning, screaming cacophony of radiation and heat. And Hits enjoyed every moment of it.

* * *

He lay there for a few minutes basking in the heat following the explosion, coughing at the unwelcome smoke, and resting on the gray dust ground. He slowly inclined his head so he could see Silvers house. No damage from the explosion, that was good. Hits was afraid he might have thrown the car too close to her front door. He sighed and attempted to pull himself up, but his adrenaline rush was gone. He groaned in pain. His knee ached, his arm muscles were shot and he had a massive headache.

"Fuck my life," Hits whined when Silver stepped out of her house and looked around. She stared at the still burning remains of the raiders and the destroyed shell of the car as she moved over to Hits to make sure he was okay.

"Did you just fucking nuke a raider crew?" Silver asked him, crouching next to the tired man.

"No," Hits responded, gesturing to her to help him up. "I told them to burn themselves and they just did it. Why were they here?"

"How did that car get over there?"

"The explosion from inside made it flip over that way, now why were those raiders here?"

"No idea-"

"No, no, raiders don't come this close to Megaton. Springvale is off-limits territory for them. What do you know about it?"

Silver bit her lip and shuddered, thinking about it.

"Come on," she relented, "I'll tell you inside."

She helped him stagger to his feet and supported him as he limped past the destruction he caused. When they got inside he saw what the grenade did to her home. Everything that was on the shelves was knocked to the ground. Plaster and splintered wood and glass peppered the carpeted floor in the living room, along with Hits' blood that made a small pool in front of the wardrobe.

"Silver, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," she said, "I just have to rebuild again. No big deal."

Hits sensed the frustration and anger from seeing all her hard work destroyed. "I'll help you," he said, "after we get through all of our shit I'll help you." She looked at him and smiled, marveling at the kindness he just displayed. "Thanks," she murmured.

He fell down onto her bed, exhausted, as she pulled up a tipped chair and sat down. "I'm not in the mood anymore by the way," Silver added quickly. They looked at each other and started laughing. They couldn't stop. How unlucky they truly were was funny to them.

"That was such terrible timing!" Hits said seconds later, wiping a small tear from his eye. That just made Silver laugh harder.

After they stopped, Silver found some un-destroyed booze from her kitchen and poured it for both of them. "So, about those raiders," Hits said.

"Okay," Silver began, "It all started a few months ago. I had just finished the house and was scavenging around for one of those lawn gnomes. Thought it'd be funny to have one in front of the place. I went all through the destroyed houses in this part of town and couldn't find anything but a locked safe and a fridge with some food in it. There was a mailbox with some grenades but I didn't want to keep those in my just finished place. So, I decided to do some scavving around the Springvale school. Bad idea. Raiders had infested the damn place. I was stuck in the building with my little 32., surrounded by guys and gals with heavy duty assault rifles."

She took a swig of her drink before continuing. "So I show myself. Not the wimpy 'please don't kill me' bullshit that those sadists feed on, but I acted like a raider girl. I walk up and say 'Hey you! Raider fuckers. What the hell you doing down here?' and they believe me. Kind of. To make a long story short they ended up telling me to scout out Megatons defenses or they'd kill me. Every few days I should report to them."

"Report what to them?" he asked fiercely, suddenly concerned.

Raiders were chaos. Plain and simple. Disorder was their creed, anarchy was their life. All that was bad and cruel in the world was reflected on the faces of these monsters. Rapists, murderers, torturers, and sadists all. If they were planning something, if they were even the least bit organized, it could spell out a real danger to whoever they targeted as victims. Hits needed to know what was going on. And he needed to know now.

"Soil composition," Silver said quietly. "They wanted to know the weak spots in the ground around the crater. They gave me some equipment, told me how to use it, and let me go."

Silver sighed and looked away. Then she looked back fearfully. "I…I don't love the people back in Megaton Hits, but I have to say I'm a little worried."

"Why did they come after you? Did you stop going back?"

Silver smiled a little. "Well, I was on my way before you showed up and fainted at my door."

Hits leaned back and scratched his head. Then he sipped his drink.

"We have to investigate."

"Huh?"

Hits grimaced. "We have to investigate what's going on over there. Anyone who cares about 'soil composition' in and around Megaton is going to be smarter than your average raider."

He winced at the thought of his next words. "And a smart person leading raiders is going to find a way into Megaton. You know what that would mean?"

Silver did. The mental images that sprung to mind horrified her. Buildings crashing down, innocent settlers attempting to fight off a horde of bloodthirsty bandits. And failing miserably. There were very few people in Megaton that could fire a gun straight. Everyone would die. And horribly.

"You're right, I…I should have, given them false soil or something…" Silver said mournfully.

Hits sat up and looked her square in the eye. "Look, your life was in danger. I would have done the same thing. We don't even know if they have a chance of getting into Megaton yet, that's why we need to go check it out."

Silver looked back at him and smiled. "We have that bastard Moriarty and now we have this bullshit. This is the worst day I've had in a while."

Hits grinned and took a big gulp of his drink. "I've had this shit all week dear. See these wounds?"

Silver leaned close and kissed him on the cheek. Hits froze, surprised by the sudden action.

"Can't believe you called me dear," she said and winked. "You're the nicest man I have ever met."

Hits smiled. "Let's not make this too mushy til we stop worrying about our lives alright?"

Silver laughed, a tinny sound that lit up Hits' bleak week a little. He felt like…he was, wow. She was tough, pretty, and simply hella chill.

He really liked her.

"So, you are going to clean that mess in front of my house right?" Silver asked teasingly, standing up and taking their two empty glasses.

"When I have the motivation to get up, yes," he responded, watching her walk to the kitchen. She even had a nice ass. Maybe his life didn't suck so bad. If trouble with Moriarty and raiders let him have the happy coincidence of meeting this awesome woman, maybe the world didn't completely hate him. It just threw stuff at him and laughed until it felt guilty and handed him a candy bar.


	7. Past and Present, Slaughter and Laughter

_"She was my best friend. I could go on forever about the lovey-dovey feelings I had for her, the adventures we shared. Not that it would mean anything to you, you wouldn't understand it. Not now. Not ever again by the look of things. I loved her, so very very much. We always ask ourselves how things went wrong, why things ended up the way they did. But what I'm telling you now is when, when something so wrong happened. You don't remember, do you? You're like a shadow on the world, a small smudge of mystery floating around looking for his place. Seeking love in dark corners of this land where love is seldom found. And yet you succeed where others have often failed. You feel the faint touch of something special, and like the pincers of a crab you latch on refusing to let go. And that passion, that fury of wanting and needing...that's how you destroy yourself."_

_"Who are you?"_

_"You're too weak to figure it out for yourself and I'm too angry to tell. And this anger isn't your average pissed off. It's like...well, let's say for now I'm in the bottom of your soul. I'm in the back of your head, poison in your veins. I'm so cliche it's ridiculous, and my own principles will not allow me to continue this little monologue of mine. Therefore I take my leave. Sayonora, Einen Verloren."_

Hits rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes and shook the pins and needles out of his feet. Sitting indian-style in the cold for long amounts of time did that to you. He exhaled a sleepy sigh, a dragons-breath of warm air making a flitting cloud from his lips, and dying swiftly as it was absorbed by the striking cold around it. He blinked some more and looked to his left. He started when he didn't see the guard anymore, but relaxed as he realized the bastard must have moved a little to the side. Hits leaned forward a little but his vision was obscured by the rank pile of garbage rotting next to him.

Silently and slowly he rolled to the dusty concrete ground, laying on his stomach and eagerly listening for the telltale clap of the raiders boots on the floor. He didn't hear it, and he slid forward, inch by inch. Peeking ahead he spied the raider sitting on an old school chair, the desk ripped off of it. It seemed to have become colder, and the night seemed deeper. Wasn't there the dying rays of the sunset just a minute ago? Hits mentally berated himself, he must have fallen asleep in the middle of an infiltration attempt. He wondered briefly what his dream was about.

The raider snorted and shivered, drawing a stitched-together burlap sack around his shoulders. Hits forgot about his dream and hopped to a crouch, setting off swiftly towards the sleeping raider. Hits loved that, when the perfect moment to strike was laid out before you. The anticipation, the waiting was agonizing beyond belief, but the chance, the opportunity was worth it.

He swung behind the raider just as the raider shot up and looked ahead of him. The man shed the burlap and turned around, sure that he had sensed something near. He must have imagined it, because he only saw the still forms of the destroyed interior of a school, old pillars lifting the remains of the second floor and a hallway sloping down into darkness.

He listened carefully, but heard nothing.

From his standpoint the night was still and dark and the skeleton of the school hung open, exposing its innards to the wasted world. The sight of the dark lonely place drove him to cringe with fear, and turn away. Besides, there was nothing to see now that the presence he felt was gone. He wasn't quite sure it was ever really there. He sat back in his chair and hugged his makeshift blanket close.

Hits peeled away from the wall he had plastered himself to, and stalked away into the quiet lower hallway of the school. Rows of lockers rushed by him as he walked, some bent and twisted from the abuse they suffered at the hands of scavengers. He stopped at some blue double doors and moved closer. He pressed his ear to the cold, murky glass and listened. Any sound of a footstep or a breath would indicate the presence of someone likely to make some noise if they saw him entering the bowels of the school. He quivered in anticipation for a moment and then pressed his palms against the rusted metal of the handle, pushing inward. The door opened surprisingly smoothly, and he was in the building.

He squinted his eyes in the murky light, and inhaled stale dusty air. He was in a hallway lined by lockers, the metal scrap doors hanging open and broken in many places. He took a step forward, quietly. Then another.

He relaxed and set off at a quick pace into the blackness. He passed by hallways riddled with age and pipes and rods of metal jutting out from the walls at odd angles. He felt as if there were eyes all around, and he could swear the place was infested with rats, as he could hear the sound of scratching and pattering all around him. He stopped and listened.

The scratching sound seemed to be coming from down the hallway ahead of him. He crept low, moving closer to the curious noise, so intent that he failed to realize a raider girl was turning the corner before she saw him.

"What the fu-!" was all she could get out before Hits slammed both his palms into her forehead while tripping her, crashing her into the ground. She groaned aloud, and Hits kneeled down and grabbed the front of her shirt, drawing her close. "Night night," Hits whispered, and he wrapped his arm around her throat and squeezed. She coughed meekly before going silent. Hits immediately let go, giving her air before she died of asphyxiation. He had a problem with killing girls. He opened the nearby bathroom door and dragged her into it, tearing off pieces of her clothing and armor and tying her hands and feet. He chuckled to himself when he was done. "Raaaape," he laughed to himself as he shut the door behind him.

The source of the noise was nearby, he knew it. Turning a corner, he spied a door across from some file cabinets. He took two steps, froze, and quickly pushed himself against a wall in the shadows. A man with a hockey mask and a submachine gun walked past him, swiveling his head left and right. Probably looking for the girl. Hits held his breath, wondered why and then moved closer and tapped the man on the shoulder.

"Neera, you almost scared the shit outta me-" he started as he turned around, but when he saw Hits he stopped, momentarily bewildered.

"Well hi there!" Hits greeted cheerily.

The raider reached for his weapon but Hits was faster. He threw an uppercut that knocked the mans mask off his face, and then he kicked the guys gun hand relieving him of his weapon. The gun clattered away, stopping after hitting the file cabinets. The guy had spun around, showing Hits his face. He looked rough, with matted, messy brown hair, a cut lip and a sneer. The man growled an angry roar, and threw a flurry of punches that caught Hits slightly off guard. Hits blocked them one by one by one, raising his forearms and knocking the mans force in every which way and other direction. The man threw an almost-winning fist but Hits met it with his open palm, softening the blow with a small bend in his elbow. Hits had a hold on the guys hand but the raider didn't care, he just used his whole body weight to wrench himself out of Hits' grasp. Now Hits pushed forward, spinning around to hit the guy with a backfist, ducking and twisting to get a good brutal jab with his elbow, but the raider blocked the attacks, dodged the attacks or just took it without missing a beat.

Hits sprung back from a low kick to the knee that could have hurt alot, and jumped forward again for charge. He rammed the guy with his shoulder, catching him and slamming him into a wall. The raider just grabbed Hits' shirt for a hold and slammed his knee into Hits' stomach, which Hits just did not like at all. But before he had time to respond the raider grabbed Hits by his arm and shoulder and pushed forward, crushing him into the lockers behind him. They crumpled with a series of metallic protests, and Hits felt all his bruises all over again.

Hits stumbled to his knee, but shot up again, throwing himself away from another kick. He rolled to a stop and got to his feet.

"You're not a bad fighter," the cut-lipped man said, "it's too bad you pissed me off. We coulda used a scrappy bastard like you." He stooped low and picked up the submachine gun Hits had kicked away. "Uh-oh. Looks like I got my gun back," he said with an evil smile.

"Looks like you got a bunch of lockers on you too," Hits said, with a bigger evil smile.

The raider's grin faltered as he wondered what Hits was talking about. "Wha-?"

Hits quickly reached out with one hand and grabbed the back of the row of lockers he had been thrown into. With a quick pull, the bent and broken lockers tipped precariously forward, threatening to topple onto the raider. He saw what Hits was doing, and he quickly raised his gun. Hits pulled the lockers down.

With a great shuddering crash, the metal fell over right on top of the raider. They all broke apart, being held together by flimsy budget craftsmanship and each clang and crash of the commotion echoed through the hallways.

The raider was partially buried, and was already quickly working himself out of the mess, but Hits kicked the gun away yet again. "Bastard!" the raider snarled, spitting in Hits' direction. "Dead person!" Hits mockingly snarled back. He stomped on the raiders throat, breaking his neck and killing him.

* * *

_"Tell me, when you finally remember, what do you think you will do? I'm curious. See, I hold a sort of special interest, seeing as it was my life that was ruined. Her life was ruined that day too."_

_"Day?"_

_"Ah, you remembered something?"_

_"No..I just know that...whatever happened, it wasn't just a day. Weeks. Maybe months. I can't..."_

_"Don't trouble your precious little head. You're too busy killing people remember? Just enjoy what you have now. Ehe, ahahahahahaahaha! I, haha, I couldn't keep a straight face trying to help you. You're a monster. When I'm free I'm going to end you."_

_"No, I'm sick of your threats, just go away."_

_"I can't, I'm here all the time. That's the problem. I'm stuck here, instead of being back where I belong, when I belong. Don't you see this isn't where we should be!? This isn't what should be happening! I-"_

_"Shut the FUCK up. I'm tired of your whining. Everyone has problems, and I'm going to deal with mine."_

_Hits sat up and looked away from the mirror. "I can't remember who I am or what happened to me. I don't know why I can do all this weird stuff, and you aren't going to tell me. So I'm going to forget about you. I'm going to make all the memories go away, at least temporarily."_

_He raised the gun and looked at it sadly. "I only have fragment of pain and anguish in my mind, and since I don't understand it I might as well forget it until I can."_

_He smiled at his reflection and raised the gun to his head. "I don't think I'll be seeing you in my dreams after I wake up. Sayanora, something, whatever you said."_

_Hits pulled the trigger.  
_


	8. Gravel Nem and Dr Heders

Gravel Nem was an asshole. Even among his own filthy kind. He would scream at people for the smallest problems, and kill them for even smaller. He weighed 298 pounds, fashioned his hair into a terrible excuse for a mohawk, and he worked out obsessively. His face, when angered, would twist into a series of sneers and snarling frowns. He was pretty much angry all the time, so his features were always twisting in rage. He had grown a short, spiky beard and sideburns and he strutted around his little raider base as if his beard made him king. Some raiders admired him, most raiders hated him. Gravel didn't care.

Now, raiders say his name isn't his real name. It's a nickname, a legacy because of the rumor that Gravel likes to torture his victims by Wonder-gluing gravel to a sandbelt and applying it liberally to his victims faces. It's a pretty well-known rumor, seeing as he actually keeps a sander in his quarters, as if on display. Some raiders say that a noobie was challenged to go into Gravel's quarters and steal his sander. They say that Gravel caught the kid, and that the young man was grinded down into nothing.

In any case, Gravel Nem was a terrifying, bullying individual. In a nutshell, he killed who he liked, enjoyed causing pain, enjoyed raping and crushing anyone he felt like and enjoyed burning things to the ground. Stealing and looting was a favorite of his, he felt that the pain of losing something you worked really hard for was one of the more simple and pleasurable punishments you can bestow upon someone. So when he "stole" the life of a scavenger man's daughter, he laughed in joy as the man broke down at the sight of his broken and bloodied little girl, crying and asking the universe why it would allow such an atrocity.

Gravel Nem was the example every raider strived to be. Which is why he quickly made an imposing name for himself, and became the anarchist "leader" of the group of raiders at Springvale Elementary. Kicking around subordinates and yelling curses was his way of leading. He would send parties of bloodthirsty murderers every which way into the wasteland to kill anyone he saw from his perch at the top of the school. But there was always one major goal, one magnificent treasure he had witnessed on his first day at Springvale. The metal city, the airplane fortress, Megaton. So many innocent lives, all in one secure place.

Gravel shivered in wanting as he gazed at the metal walls, relishing the thought of bringing those walls down. To completely destroy Megaton's security, to dash their little sphere of safety to the ground would be the epitome of fun. He tried time and time again, sending his raiders in unorganized groups to find some weakness, but they unfortunately died. Shot by Stockholm, shot by the great Jericho, shot by the Sheriff.

His frustration knew no bounds.

He would stomp around, angrier than anyone had ever seen him before. In the first week of being unable to penetrate Megaton, he had killed at least three people with his bare hands. Two others had disappeared, assumed dead. Raiders don't usually abandon their crews, but Gravel's attitude was bad enough to make a fully grown Deathclaw back down. Second week, after he lost another trio of raiders, he had to let off some steam. Raiders actually witnessed him literally backhand a Yaoi Guai with a a metal gauntlet. And then beat it to a pulp. Gravel Nem came back that day with a content sigh, and covered in blood. Still striving to capture Megaton.

One day, a blessed day to Gravel, the scientist showed up. With thick spectacles, a thick mustache and scraggly hair, he had strode up nonchalantly to the front of the school with another man, and stood there. The raiders watched him, hidden, as the two men just stood there, staring up at the school. Finally, after hearing the news about a man in a lab coat and another man in mercenary garb, Gravel burst through the front doors, marched up the the both of them and attempted to shoot them in the face. Surprisingly enough, the scientists mercenary stopped him, rather forcefully, and they both proceeded to beat the crap out of each other. The raiders watched excitedly, all cheering for Gravel.

The scientist watched bored, checking his watch every other minute or so.

Gravel was perplexed. He had landed the most brutal, gut-busting punches right to this mans head, and he just kept going. Then, as Gravel was about to land a neck breaking punch, the merc threw one of his own, right at Gravels fist. A terrible cracking sound was heard, and as pain lanced through Gravels clenched and contorted hand, he showed no pain. He stopped, staring at this mercenary in respect. But Gravel, being himself, still had to win. If not with fists, then with words.

"That was a pussy move," Gravel had growled, "ending the fight like that. Little bitch."

The mercenary, holding his hand, had turned his eyes up mischievously, smiling. "Who ever said anything about ending a fight?" he had asked, releasing his hand and flexing his fingers, his hand obviously unbroken. Gravel was shocked.

"Derek, can you please cease your banter? I'm trying to do business." The mercenary Derek nodded as the scientist spoke, stepping back from Gravel and nodding respectfully. Gravel spun around to face the scientist man. "WHo the hell are you?" Gravel demanded, as raiders poured out of the building to surround the three of them. The mercenary Derek, with the matted hair and the cut lip, the scientist with the glasses, and Gravel Nem.

"My name is Eian Heders, I'm someone who can help you with your problem. You are trying to gain access to Megaton right?"

Gravels heart jumped at that word. "Yes! Scientist, Eian, you can help?"

"Dr. Heders would be nice, and yes, I can absolutely help."

Gravel felt as if he was getting ahead of himself and pulled back asking, "Wait, how do you know I want to get in? Why are you really here?"

Dr. Heders smiled sourly, clasping his hand behind his back. "We've been monitoring the area, trying to get to a person inside those walls. We have seen your attacks, and connected them like Megaton could not. We tracked you, here. We can use your help, and you can use ours."

Dr. Heders motioned to Derek, and Derek walked over and stood beside him. "We both need to get into those walls, and while we could get in easily without you, we need your help capturing our individual."

Gravel, so excited by the thought of getting into Megaton, took his words as truth. It was the best day he had had in a while. "Look Heders, we'll help you capture whoever you want. Get me into those walls, and I will get you anything."

Dr. Heders and Gravel shook on it, Dr. Heder's hand deceptively clean and Gravel's obviously dirty.

And so research began. They did not have enough resources or manpower to get in with brute force, and they could not use diplomacy. So Dr. Heders decided to dig in.

One day, weeks after their encounter, Heders approached Gravel Nem in Gravels quarters, as he was drinking.

"The soil around Megaton must be awfully loose, as it is built around a crater. The impact of the bomb inside dug into the earth, throwing up and hard granite or tough compacted soil beneath," Heder explained. "What we can do is investigate the soil around Megaton looking for the minerals that are found deeper in the earth, because it is in that spot where the most churned up earth, and therefore, the easiest spot to dig will be."

Gravel was skeptical. "Why can't we just dig in any old spot? You said the whole area was loose."

"This operation needs to be quiet, and it needs to happen under cover at night. We must dig as quickly as possible, and it needs to be perfect. If we are discovered at any time, they will post guards around the area and we will have lost our chance."

Gravel didn't like the sound of that. So he accepted Heders' plan, and the doctor fashioned a device in a few days to monitor the soil. Problem was, they didn't have anyone to go test it. Everyone looked like a raider, including Derek, who now wore a hockey mask. Heders couldn't go, if he got shot all their plans were screwed. They needed some innocent waster, but unfortunately there were none around recently.

Then the silver-haired girl happened to show up. They captured her, questioned her, and recruited her. She would come back every week with soil samples, diligent in her task. Gravel and Heders were seeing progress.

* * *

Then came the day when Silver did not return. It was nine at night, and she was late. Gravel and his raiders waited patiently. They quickly became un-patient, because the soil sample needed was the last quarter of outer Megaton. With that sample, they could figure out the best place to dig. They could start their invasion that night. Their anticipation was palpable, even the coldly stoic and mysterious Dr. Heders seemed to get antsy.

When morning rolled along, Gravel furiously sent out a raider party to kill Silver and retrieve the device. They hadn't returned.

It was evening and they still hadn't returned.

Dr. Heders was angry, and Derek was bugging him with questions. He sent Derek below ground to patrol with Derek's raider-girlfriend, Neera. He imagined Derek wouldn't be doing much patrolling, but that wasn't the point. The point was removing distractions. Unsuccessful, as Gravel had just walked into his room.

**Present**

"Everything was going so damn WELL!" Gravel exploded as he burst through the doctor's door. "We were going to get IN Heders! Into Megaton, and we were going to kill and destroy all of them!" he roared in frustration, and punched a wall. The wall shuddered, and collapsed as he punched it multiple times.

"I know Gravel, I'm quite annoyed as well," Heders muttered, uncharacteristically bitter. Heders had been seen as the cold, collected spectacled man standing behind Gravel Nem, his shadow. His glasses glinted as he smiled, everytime Gravel spoke passionately about the terror he would bestow upon the innocent. Every time Gravel killed one of his own, because they were foolish, or because he felt like it, his teeth and glasses would glint in the stark light, and vanish.

Gravel finished pummeling the wall, and he faced Heders quickly, his beard swinging (as it had grown longer) and his eyes filled with pent up rage. "What do we do now, Doctor?" he snarled, "The girl is gone and we don't know where to dig, I say fuck it all! Let's just go dig!"

"Gravel!" Dr. Heders shouted sternly, as if speaking to his son, "We need perfection, or you will never get your prize."

Before Gravel could become angrier, Dr. Heders stood and spoke. "Imagine it Gravel. Precision, and perfection. The innocent of Megaton will be living their lives, believing they are safe. But you, you will show them. You will break apart their little sphere, and your dark warriors will pour from the ground, ending life after life, spreading your truth to them all!"

Gravel smiled, looking listlessly at the wall in front of him. "I will, I will...but I want to do it now," he started.

"Patience my friend, it will come. This is a minor setback. It's all a simple matter of time. And if it were more complicated, I'm sure we would find a logical solution to the problem. With the very same results."

A large commotion, clattering and banging pierced the room. The halls echoed every large noise, the entire building hear it. "What. Was that?" Gravel asked.

"Gravel, it' your building. Maybe you should go find out." Gravel shook his head, smiling and rushed out of the room shouting orders and questions, occasionally both at the same time. Heders scowled after him, turning back to his papers. He sifted through them, looking at page after page, chart after chart. He stopped at a picture.

He held it up to the light, squinting through his thick glasses.

"Tech-37's escaped pet. I can't wait to see you again, H.I.T.S."


	9. My New Memory

Run, run, run, turn, run, fuck. Hits halted his sprint and slid to a stop, coming to yet another dead end. The damn darkness of the hallways made it extremely difficult to see where he was going, and he couldn't afford running into a wall and slowing down. The raiders behind him wouldn't give him a chance in hell of living if they caught up to him. Spinning around, he spied a door to his left and he jumped to it. He kicked it in and quickly ran up the stairs ahead of him, two steps at a time.

"Where is he?"

"Look! The door, he went up the stairs GO!"

He reached the top of the stairs as he began to hear the sound of stomping boots behind him. He cursed and slammed himself into the door ahead of him, breaking it open with the force of his shoulder. He stumbled as he exited the stairway, before he found balance again. He ran harder, down a barely lit room. There were double doors ahead, if he could only reach it before the raiders hit the top of the stairs…

He burst through as the loud racket of guns and the ringing of bullets found his ears. The hot metal carved itself into the doorway behind him, just as he had passed it. It looked like he was in a library of sorts now.

"Fire fire FIRE!" he heard a man yell behind him. He dived over a low bookcase right as he heard the rattle of machine guns and the splintering of wood. He caught his breath a moment, and then broke cover, running behind another bookcase.

"He went behind that one, throw a grenade." Hits swore repeatedly as he heard the pin pulled on a grenade, and then he cursed louder when he saw the grenade land directly in front of him. He kicked it away and jumped backwards as it went off. A thundering explosion and a wall of air knocked him back, slamming him into the wooden structure and shaking the books from the shelves. The fragments from the grenade splintered the nearest bookcase, but Hits managed to only get a little shredded. Clutching his bleeding shoulder and gritting his teeth at the pain from his side, he exhaled in gasps and tried to stand up. Shards from the grenade managed to tear through his left shoulder and his right side, making the effort of moving Olympian. He weakly pulled out his pistol from its holster and leaned against the bookcase, silently waiting.

"You think he's dead?" a female voice.

"Hell yeah. It was a fucking grenade Sharl, that shit that explodes? Yeah, that kills people."

"Shutup Fik, he looked tough. Let's go make sure." Hits heard Fik and Sharl walk through the crumpled and burned paper that littered the floor, garbage ankle-high. He timed the crackling perfectly as Sharl and Fik rounded the bookcase.

"Where'd his body go?" Fik asked. The burly raider gazed around, peering into the corner littered with paper and blood. "Shit, he must still be alive. I told you asshole!" Sharl snarled, walking with her AK-47 raised high and glaring around. Hits breathed shallowly, laying atop the bookcase directly above the pair. It was hell pulling himself up with his injuries and only his good arm, and he was sure he couldn't reach his gun from where he was, supporting himself on his stomach and carefully protecting his bleeding wounds.

He slid silently across the structure, moving to the side opposite the two raiders. Moving slowly, he was careful to avoid getting stuck. The small space between the rotten wood below him and the cracking plaster above was just enough that he could make some noise if he had to dislodge himself. He stopped when his left arm hit empty space, and he began to shift his legs over.

"Where could he have gone?" Fik asked, Hits could hear him checking behind bookcases and kicking away the garbage. "I mean, there's blood everywhere, he's definitely hurting-Sharl."

"What?"

"There's an assload of blood all over the case behind you."

Hits bit his lip to stop himself from crying out in pain as he lowered himself down the other side of the bookcase with one arm. His toes were just barely touching the floor below…

"He's on top of the bookcase!"

He dropped to the floor as the rapid fire from the AK lit up the top part of the bookcase, followed by the automatic fire of a submachine gun. Hits yelled in pain, as he hit the ground, knowing that the sound of the gunfire would drown out any other noises in the background. The heavy fire ripped through the wooden bookcase, splinters and shards flying everywhere in the storm of bullets.

Sharl's clip ran out, and the gunfire ceased as Fik ran out of ammunition as well. The moment was tense as Fik and Sharl stepped slowly toward the shredded and smoking remains of the case.

"He's definitely dead now," said Fik, slapping another magazine in his gun. Hits took the opportunity to kick the shredded bookcase. Fik and Sharl attempted to jump away, but were far too late as the heap of wood trapped them with a smash.

Hits wheezed out a laugh in relief, listening to the stream of cursing coming from under the bookcase. He propped himself up, and slowly stood. He coughed suddenly, violently, and he collapsed onto his hands and knees. He his head was throbbing, with each heartbeat a lance of pain tore through his mind. He growled in frustration, and slammed his forehead into the plank of wood in front of him, crumpling it. He did it again, again, trying to force the pain away. He needed energy again…he couldn't stop it…

* * *

"What's your name?"

"Huh?"

"Your name kid, what is it?"

"Oh right. Name. Uhm…all I'm getting is Lauren."

"You're a guy named Lauren?"

"No, that's not my name. It's a name. Don't think I know mine. Sorry, I'm kind of screwed up right now."

"I couldn't tell."

"Shut up," the young man snappped, pressing his index and middle finger to his temple and rubbing it. The throbbing seemed to intensify. They were walking down the road, cracked and jagged and tarred and dusty. The Wasteland stretched for miles in every which direction, with the odd ruins or rocky crags breaking up the horizon here or there. The woman wore a straw hat, wore her dirty blonde hair to her shoulders and walked in her boots like she could take on anything. She probably could too, with a giant M1014 shotgun in a sling on her back. She tore off a bit of squirrel meat out of a small pouch of food she was holding, and chewed noisily to block out the windy silence.

The man was athletic, with lean muscle showing from his white t shirt. You couldn't tell if he was Latino, African-American, or Caucasian from the way he looked, his sharp features were a mysterious mix of the three. He wore long black hair that hung in wavy, matted locks and waved in the stark wasteland wind. His brown eyes were almost deep black, and the combination of the intelligence shining behind them and his furrowed brow made for the face of fierce determination, and dark contemplation. He walked just a bit behind the woman, his fingers to his temple and that incessant painful throbbing plaguing him with every step.

The woman grunted, and tore off another bite of squirrel meat. "Member yerr name yet?" she asked, chewing.

"My God," he began, his voice hoarse from fatigue, "Amnesia. This is ridiculous. I feel like some generic adventure story protagonist."

The woman chuckled. "It's not so uncommon. With the horrors out in this hellhole, people tend to push their memories away."

"Yeah, but my name? And everything else? I can remember words, and experiences. I remember things I must have done, things I learned. I just don't remember anything about me. Or who I knew, I mean...what the hell? How does that work? Except for this Lauren. If something so terrible happened as to make me push my life away, she must've been the only good thing going for me," he said, his eyes listlessly scanning the heavens, the wasteland wind picking up and making their clothes and hair flap behind them.

"Ah, sweet, young love," she sighed sarcastically. "Well, keep trying to remember. I have to call you something. Let's go with Quiet for now."

"That's not a name."

"I know, I'm cleverly telling you to be quiet dumbass. We've got company."

The woman twisted around to grab the shotgun from her gun sling. She checked the ammo and held it nonchalantly as a trio of raiders walked up the road toward them. They were dirty and ragged, wearing leather covered in what looked like patterns colored with dried blood. They wore malicious smirks, their teeth yellow and pointed. They stopped just a few yards short of the man and woman, appraising them before one began to speak.

"Look at what we have got here. Great day, finding such a pretty lady walking round. Now, what's a purty lady like you doing with a young lad like him? You should really get someone who could protect yah," he said, in a gnarly blistering tone.

"Blow it out your ass, raider," the woman said, and quicker than any of them could react she cocked the shotgun and deftly blew the man's head away. The other two began to unholster their weapons, but she quickly turned them into lead filled meat as well.

The young man stood there tensed up, his eyes wide in surprise at the very sudden, very shocking deaths of the three men not six yards ahead of him. "You…you killed them."

The woman slung the shotgun over her shoulder, and casually glanced at him. "Yeah, so?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "You didn't even know what they were going to do! They could've been saying hi for all you knew!" the man exploded, trying his best to not look at the carnage on the ground in front of him.

The woman smiled. "Well, at this point you can assume I'm a homicidal maniac, you know, except for the fact I haven't killed you yet. Or you can look ahead of you and see their supposed innocence for yourself."

The man looked up, and squinted his eyes. Half a football field away, a small girl was staggering from behind a rock, beaten and bloody. Her hair was matted and ratted up, her face covered in dirt and blood and tears. As she was trying to limp away, another raider, this one without a shirt, shot up from behind the rock and kicked the little girl. Without looking, he yelled over, "Guys! Lil bitch tried to leave again. What was all that shooting?"

The man was stunned. His breath caught in his chest in short ragged gasps as he pieced together what the raiders had done. The woman grimaced. "You should get him boy."

The man's eyes hardened, and he started forward at a walk. The raider still hadn't looked over, and he kicked the whimpering girl on the floor again. The man sped up his pace.

The raider laughed. "LIL BITCH! I'll teach you not to leave us again. You're all we got honey, nothing else to fuck around here."

The man bared his teeth, and sprinted. The raider finally turned around to see where his buddies were. All he saw was a tan, long haired man running at him with eyes of death and bared teeth.

"What the fuck!?" was all he cried before the man leapt, and dug his teeth into the raiders throat. The raider screamed, blood spurting from the wound and all over the man's face. The raider's screams turned into choking gargles as the man tore at his windpipe, flesh falling from the raiders neck in bloody tatters. The raider died, and the second the man realized it he sprung back, and roared a mindless cry of satisfaction.

The woman walked over. "That was disgusting."

The man rose from his kill, and growled at her.

"Oh, you're senseless. Got some kinda bloodwrath in you or something, huh?"

The man spit out any blood or flesh and rushed her.

"Well, at least you're not a cannibal," the woman said, and ducked the man's attack. He sailed over her and rolled, spinning around and rushing her again. Only for his face to meet the blunt end of her shotgun. A mighty crack was heard as his face collided with the stock of her gun, sending him reeling back, howling in pain.

The woman saw him clutching his blood-stained face, and backed off. "Would you calm the fuck down!? The little girl needs help."

The man stopped seeing red, the bloodlust quickly leaving his system. "Little girl? Why am I covered in blood?"

The woman shook her head and quickly tended to the crying child nearby. The man looked down at himself only to find crimson where the white of his shirt should have been. He panicked and tore it off.

"She seems to be okay, physically. Only beat up a little. Otherwise, she's been through hell," the woman said.

She looked over at where the man was throwing up, his back to her. "Hits. We'll call you that."

His questioning eyes found her cold ones.

"It's tattooed on your back."

* * *

Hits' eyes sprung open to meet the barrel of Sharl's Ak-47. "Hello, honey," she cooed evilly. Hits roared and slapped her gun away, springing at her. His teeth bared.

**Hello everyone. I am back. Sorry, I was going to upload this one sooner but I've been vacationing in Europe. Rome is awesome, I just want to say that. Review per favore.**


	10. Collision of Powers

"We've got some kind of intruder on the second floor," a raider breathed heavily after running down a flight of stairs.

Gravel Nem stared at him for all of three seconds before his fist lashed out, and his fingers found the raider's throat. "Fucking KILL him then you idiot!" he yelled before throwing the man back up onto the stairs. The raider hit the stairs hard, choked out an apology and nodded, and squirmed his way back on his feet and sprinted up the stairs as fast as possible.

"Everything going well then Nem?" a cold voice slithered from behind Gravel. Gravel turned around, his grotesque face flushed in frustration. "They're all idiots, all fucking, goddamn idiots. Can't kill one guy."

Dr. Heders slid out of the shadows, a composed smirk on his features. "Calm, quiet. They are just pawns Gravel. You can't expect them to be perfect all the time."

Gravel growled and rolled his eyes. "We need to find the girl, Doctor. Unless we can just dig into Megaton now."

Heders shook his head, still smiling. "No, no it has to be perfect. How many times should I tell you?" The doctor paused. "Call them back. Set a trap for the intruder."

"What?"

"A thought has just occurred to me," Dr. Heders said, as he watched Derek emerged from the basements below with Neera, cracking his neck and grimacing. "Lay the trap. Call the raiders back. We might be facing something more powerful than you would know."

Gravel was about to say something, but he saw the look of magnitude on Heder's face. The darkness in Heders' eyes could get through even Gravel Nem's thick, stubborn skull. "Get those fuckers out of there! I want all my raiders back here with me," he yelled, making his raiders scurry away to get everyone else.

Gravel turned to see Heders with Derek, sending Neera away. He stalked forward, a little curious as to what they were saying.

"It was him Doctor. He's here, in the building, fighting our host's raiders."

Heders' smile grew. "Good. A little surprising, but a delectable turn of events. You look a little worse for wear Derek. What did he do?"

Derek groaned as he twisted his neck. "We had a bit of a scuffle."

"Powerful?"

"Not even close to his full potential thank God. Still a challenge though."

"I'll believe you. Sorry about that by the way Derek."

Derek shrugged in acceptance. "I understand. I can still take him if he's distracted Doctor."

Gravel didn't know what the hell they were talking about. And when they glanced over at him, he could tell they didn't mind discussing whatever important things they had in front of him because he was so out of the loop. He growled, and turned away. He didn't care. He just wanted this nuisance dead so that he could get to Megaton.

Hits slammed his fist into the second raider's jaw, just as he grabbed the other raider's hammer-wielding-hand and broke his wrist. He twisted, pulling the one he had a grip on toward him, head-butting him gruesomely into a wall and shooting the falling raider at the same time. Two more charged him, one with two metal pipes, the other wielding a nasty- looking nailboard. The one with the nailboard swung at Hits' head, and Hits threw himself back, and sprung forward at the raider's opening. With his open palm, he struck the raider's outstretched elbow, breaking it. The raider cried out as his buddy jumped in, jabbing at Hits with short quick strikes. Hits met each attack with his forearms and fists, blocking the attacks as they came, knocking them out of the air. The man didn't let up, but Hits could feel him tiring.

The man swung one pipe, then the other. Hits countered his left swing, slapping the raiders arm out wide, and quickly backhanded his other attack, leaving the raiders arms spread out for just a moment. And that moment was all Hits needed. Hits curled his fingers out from his fist and jabbed straight into the raider's throat, destroying the man's Adams apple. The raider dropped both of the metal pipes and staggered, gargling. Hits smiled. He moved forward and grabbed the man's jaw, and the back of his head. "By now, you should know you're dead," Hits whispered into the gargling mans ear. Then he cleanly broke the raider's neck.

He dropped the body and faced the doorway, where he could have sworn was a crew of raiders ready to attack. They were gone now, retreating from his awesome killing skills. He smiled and noticed the groaning raider with a broken arm. "Oh, I got a buddy here huh?" Hits asked the man squirming on the floor. "I forgot you were here." Hits walked up and pulled the man to his feet, and pushed him into a wall.

The raider looked like he could wet himself out of fear. He was shivering, the pain from his broken arm apparent from the twitching in his shoulder. "The hell are you man?" the raider asked.

Hits grinned. "I'm your friend for now. You're not dead, and you know shit that I don't. I say that you being here with me is a lot safer than you being with your buddies, wherever they went."

"Why, why is that?" the man stammered.

"Because all of your buddies are going to die. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But they will die. It's a simple fact my friend, they really deserve it, don't you think?"

The raider looked into Hits' mad, energy deprived, confident eyes and somehow knew that what Hits said was a truth. "Yeah, they do, we do-I mean, I did and now-"

"Don't worry. As long as you help me you will no longer be affiliated with them. First we're going to find a way out of here, second you're going to tell me everything you know about what is going on with you guys, understand?"

The raider nodded, "Forward, where everyone else left. There are stairs back down to the basement."

Hits abruptly propped him up, supporting him as they moved to the doorway. They moved to the left, down a well lit hallway, and moved past some old barricades and skeletons. "We don't come down here and clean or anything," the raider explained. Hits looked at him. "Why the hell do you think I would care?" The raider shut up for a while after that.

They stopped at the top of a flight of stairs. "The exit is down there," the man explained, pointing. Hits began to walk, but paused. Hits turned to the raider and grabbed his arm, twisting the broken limb more. The raider screamed, asking, begging Hits to stop. Hits did, but only to rip off the leather and canvas sleeve to look at the man's bare arm. Hits sighed.

"A tattoo."

The raider gasped in pain. "Yeah, so what?"

"This particular one you're wearing symbolizes complete loyalty to whatever raider clan you belong to. To death, that kind of thing." The raider paled, and began shaking again.

"What's your name buddy? I never bothered to ask," Hits asked, his voice cold.

"P-Pain. My name is Pain."

"Goodbye Pain," Hits whispered, and shoved him down the stairs. Pain screamed all the way down, before he hit the last step. When he did, the doorway and the bottom stairs exploded in a brilliant flash and a deafening crash. Rubble and dust and garbage flew all the way to where Hits was, he had to jump back out of the way of some chunks of wall and chunks of flesh.

Hits laughed. "See that Pain? Yeah, that's what you get when you try to mess with the WARRIORRRR!" Hits cheered, pumping his fist into the air and growling the word warrior. "Nice try, leading me to a trap like that," he said, talking to himself as he walked down the rubble and blood strewn stairs, "but I'm waayy too smart for something like…that..."

He exited the hallway to an enormous room, with an army of raiders in front of him. All grinning and smiling, brandishing their guns and their weapons openly. In the middle stood a very, very large raider with a very large beard, and he didn't look very happy at all. Right behind him was a scraggly looking man in a lab coat wearing thick glasses. Hits got a headache from looking at him, it throbbed ever so slightly in the back of his head all of the sudden. Hits scanned the room slowly, looking all around. He glanced back right at all of them. "Is this one of those awkward surprise birthdays where you guys just stare at me instead of shouting surprise?"

"Hello Sentient Project. Or "Hits" as you like being called," the scraggly man called out, smiling a triumphant victory.

Hits completely ignored him. "I have to confess, Pain already told me there was going to be a surprise, but I'm still surprised everyone, thank you!"

The man in the coat looked like he'd been flicked in the nose. "Hits, you're surrounded. Please take this opportunity to surrender."

Hits eyed him for the briefest moment. "You, in the white coat. Are you trying to say something to me?"

The raiders looked to the big man in the center, and he told them to wait. The man in the coat grimaced. "Yes, I am. I am Doctor Heders Hits, do you remember me at all?"

"See, because if you were trying to say something to me, that would mean you're trying to interrupt my birthday," Hits continued, waving to the room.

"Please stop goofing around. Do you even remember when your birthday is?" Heders spoke, anger slowly rising in his voice. Hits looked thoughtful for a moment. "Nope, I don't. So I consider every day as my birthday, just in case, right?"

Doctor Heders, the calm, completely in control puppet master actually growled in frustration. "Hits. We have much to discuss. You are coming with us."

Hits laughed, a broad, deep guffaw. "You sound like you think you can tell me what I'm going to do."

"That's because I can. Derek, get him." Materializing behind Doctor Heders, the cut lipped man from the basement came forward, cracking his knuckles.

Hits stopped breathing for a moment. He was fairly certain that the man approaching him was dead in the basement, his neck broken and his cold dead fingers still gripping his submachine gun.

"Doctor! Let me just kill him now, you don't need Derek!" the big raider called, confused anger thick in his voice. "I want to test something Gravel, please calm down," Heders snarled. So the raiders watched as Derek approached Hits.

"Before you say anything," Hits began, "I had a feeling you were a zombie when I killed you. I just knew it." Derek chuckled, rolling his neck.

"You pulled a fast one back in the basement. Respect."

Hits jumped back in mock surprise. "Zombies can talk?!"

Derek laughed harder. "I have to say Hits, I would have thought the level of balls you have when facing certain death would be annoying, but it's pretty damn funny."

Hits backed away, and walked around. They were circling each other. "Was that a compliment? Derek honey, if I didn't know any better I'd think you liked me," Hits said, stalling the situation. He didn't know who this Doctor was, who Derek was, but he knew that he had to get away. Stomping on a guys neck usually killed the guy, and if that certain guy didn't die from that then he was something else. Literally.

Derek eyed Hits. "Do you get it yet? Your strength? My sudden return from perceived death?"

"Nope. Honestly, all I can focus on is how the hell I'm going to get out of here."

"You're a part of something Hits. Don't you want to know who you are? Why you can do the things you do? We've got it all, man." Derek smiled. "Join the dark side Luke. We get capes. The ladies dig the capes."

Hits held back a small grin at the joke as he thought it over. There were things he could do that left him confused as fuck, so he usually just denied to himself he ever did them. And yeah, there were a lot of blank spots in what he considered his life that he decided to not worry about it a long time ago.

But he still had a mission here, and he wasn't about to let a lab-coat wearing doctor and a zombie tell him what he's going to do. "Derek, I'm sorry I can't accept the offer right now. I know, I suck, screwing your shit up, throwing a wrench in the machine, the works. But honestly," he said, "I'm interested. I just can't deal with your shit right now, I gotta go."

Derek shrugged, and cracked his knuckles. "I kinda knew this was going to be a fight anyway. I have to at least attempt to take you in by force."

Hits did a quick stretch. "Don't know why all your guys don't just shoot me, but I'm certainly not complaining." He breathed in, moving slowly into a fighting stance…and kicked the nearest raider in the groin. The man yelled in pain as Hits grabbed his shotgun, kicked the man away, and aimed it at Derek.

"Let's fight."


	11. The Reaper and the Dark Man

Hits fired repeatedly, the shotgun blasts shocking up his arms and jutting back with each pull of the trigger. Derek was caught off guard, and his left side was shredded by the first blast, and he fell away to the floor. Hits spun as the nearest raider jumped at him, trying to stab him with a rusty knife, and he blasted a few messy bloody patterns into the man's torso as he fell forward.

The raiders reacted, but Gravel Nem shouted at them to stop. Hits jumped back, ready to face an onslaught of bloodthirsty mongrels, but was surprised when they all looked past him. Disgust and awe written on their features. He grimaced in aggravation and the slightest bit of fear as he realized he heard movement behind him, where he had torn Derek apart with his first shot. He slowly turned around.

Ahead of him was Derek, slumped over and crimson fury smashed upon the ground and pooling around him. He lay in tatters, his head bowed and his right hand clutching the wound, trying in vain to staunch the heavy torrent. He was spattered, globs of dark red smeared on his face and spreading copiously along his light clothing. And he was completely fine.

Hits gasped as the mercenary looked up. His heavy, blue eyes showed no pain. He simply looked annoyed. His face twisted into an angry sneer as suddenly, his left side contorted. The blood was rising, in small spots. It was being sucked back into the wound!

Hits almost dropped his shotgun as he took a small step back, shock and horror stamped on his features. He could never have imagined he would see anything like that, and he was afraid. He was never afraid, not for himself. This was certainly a first time for him, the cold chill creeping through his insides as Derek's brilliantly cold eyes flashed at him, the hollow beating through his blood as a sense of impending doom crept through his senses. He was spinning in an unfamiliar world, the raider force falling away into the blurred edges of his vision, the maniacal smile of the spectacled doctor floating in the distance. He was alone, and clearly in front of him, in the center, crouched forward on the ground was the Dark Man. Blood splattered, ice blue eyes seeking souls to devour, and an annoyed grimace that belied utter control. The stark crimson shone as his background, the crystal edges of his form blurred the outer world.

And Hits was afraid.

"You see?" Derek sneered, now healed and standing up. "You've got to understand by now. You belong to us."

The raiders couldn't take their eyes off of him either, but they looked upon him with a newfound respect. The logical, level-headed mercenary that had shown up at their door a few months ago had just proven himself super human. They did find it rather odd that he had such power, but they had no reason to look upon him with fear.

Hits on the other hand…

He shivered, locked in stunned silence. He then cried out, an angry retaliatory, rebellious roar. He leveled the shotgun and pulled the trigger. But all anyone heard was a sobering click. Hits shook, and dropped the shotgun. He moved backwards, slowly, then began to pace slowly to the left. Derek mirrored him, strafing left at the same speed. Eyes locked on each other, they faced their enemy.

Hits was trembling, and he couldn't stop. He tried to, he knew it wasn't that big a deal, but he could not. He raised a quivering hand and wiggled it, and he was awarded with cold shivers down his arm. He gritted his teeth in frustration. Why was he so afraid?

He raised his dark eyes again. Derek was still there, now watching him with a small smirk. Hits tried to smile back, but he ended up just trembling harder. That smile seemed to promise his end.

Derek launched himself forward, faster than Hits expected. Hits began to block, but Derek interrupted him with a swift explosive punch to the gut. Hits let out a guttural, pained cry and staggered back, doubled up. He looked back up, anger replacing fear before surprise kicked in. He fell to his knees and threw up. Derek grimaced. "What's wrong Hits? You seem to be having some trouble."

Hits finished and wiped his mouth, disgusted with himself. He stood up again, and Derek attacked again. This time Derek punched him square across the jaw, a left swing that knocked Hits awry, and continued. He grabbed Hits' right arm to pull Hits back from where he was falling, and slammed another fist across Hits' face. That broke Hits' nose, blood flying free and dripping down his lips. Hits cried in pain and threw his free arm out, bent, catching the Dark Man in the chest with his elbow. Derek was distracted by the sloppy attack, but still had a grip on Hits' left arm. He pulled Hits back to him and slammed his knee into Hits' stomach, doubling him up again. Derek let go, and Hits fell to his knees.

"S.P doesn't seem to be doing well Derek," Heders commented from the background.

Derek shrugged as he grabbed Hits' hair and pulled his head up so that he could look down into Hits' blood spattered face. Then he smashed his fist across Hits' face again. He pulled back, and let fly a full body powered swing that threw Hits to the dark stained concrete floor.

"I don't know Doctor," the Dark Man cried, curiosity lacing his voice, "he seems almost afraid to fight me."

"Well, try to cheer him up. I wanted a field test of both of your abilities."

Their exchange was interrupted by Hits, who was mumbling something. Derek and Heders grew silent.

"Field test. Logical, hyper, zation. Ugh…" he struggled to stand up as he groaned nonsense. "What are you trying to say?" Heders asked, stepping a bit closer to hear clearly.

"I am going to kill all of you," Hits growled, raising his dark eyes up, blood dripping from his chin and his teeth clenched in a vicious scowl. He burned. He burned with an angry flame. The chilling eyes of the Dark Man peered at him, and the Dark Man was threatening. But the eyes could not cool his fire. The soul eater could not capture his mind. And as he clenched a weak fist, and clenched the other, he was a warrior. And afraid, he wouldn't…fucking…give…up!

He roared, blood and spittle caught in a mighty exhalation, his eyes wild and reined, insanity boiled the rivers of order and might into a sweeping froth. He launched himself, a flurry of fists, at Derek. Derek leapt back, blocking three pounding crashes with deft movements. Hits growled and snarled and snapped with each individual chop or mad fist that he let fly, that he forced, that he pushed. He would sweep a dominant hook, that would drive him low because Derek would dodge, and then he would flex his other arm and punch again, upwards. Derek would strafe and dodge and fly away. Faster, faster, so quickly they would move. And Hits' attacks weren't controlled, they were insane. Every chop was a mad and confident and lazy movement, animalistic, angry. When he was open, he would throw his body at Derek, spinning when a limb found empty air, landing balanced, and attacking again.

The raiders watched, cheering, whistling, roaring. They would cry for blood and cry for honor. Then they'd ask what honor was and cry for more blood. It was a flurry inside the circle.

Heders and Gravel looked on, above the rest. Heders was pleased, and Gravel was unamused.

Chaos and order and madness and control filtered together to create a fine sprinkling of raw, undisturbed and shifting life.

Then Hits changed, right when Derek was about to counterattack. Hits fell to the ground and rolled, grabbing Derek's ankle, and he shot up again. Derek was caught off balance as he ripped his attacked limb away, and he flailed slightly with his arms, but Hits had already leapt forward. Hits' arms were ready, fists were clenched for a few good, uninterrupted blows. But they opened, to strong contorted claws. He grabbed Derek's flailing arm, and then spread a muscled hand and grabbed Derek's face. Moving forward and using momentum, he pulled up, gripping Derek's muffled head as he lifted, and then pushing down, smashing it into the concrete. He smashed the back of Derek's head into the concrete floor over and over and over and over again. Hits snarled with every impact, shattered the back of Derek's skull more and more. When he imagined the back of his head was in pulp and shards and he was done, Hits hopped up and picked up his body in one smooth movement. He spun, the body outstretched from him and tossed, the Dark Man's corpse spinning into the air before smashing into the wall and falling to the floor.

He stood in the center of the army of raiders, one foot planted in the bloody, miniature crater where Derek's skull was smashed, and the other planted on the only blood free spot of dirty dull concrete. His arms all muscle cut up and bloody, his fists clenched, and he was breathing heavily. His black hair hung over his dark features, casting the maddened and gory face in shadows, his shadowy eyes set dead ahead and lowered. His jaw was set, breathing in fuming breaths through locked teeth.

The raiders looked upon him in fear. He was representation of righteous fury, the nightmare that haunted them. He was the result that they would all one day have to face. The punishment for their crimes, and the visage of the Reaper. The Dark Man, the servant of malice had been defeated, and lay broken and bloody at the feet of madness.

The Madness cast his eyes over the frightened crowd, too overcome to recognize their weapons in their hands. Until Gravel Nem charged up like a roaring tank.

He smashed through the edges of the crowd, yelling murder, and with one gargantuan uppercut launched the tired Hits into the air. He grabbed the flying Hits by one leg, and slammed him into the concrete with a massive crumbling of the ancient solid. In a few seconds, the dust passed to reveal Hits in a man-sized crater, completely unconscious.

* * *

Silver watched all this in horror, lying prone above the scene on a concrete ledge. She watched in disgust as Heders strode over to the mutilated Derek, who miraculously was already healing from the damage done to him. Silver was glad she was far from the scene, she wasn't sure if she could stand being near to someone who was piecing his skull back together. Gravel Nem started to roar some kind of victory chant to his raiders, and after a few seconds his raiders joined in wholeheartedly. She waited in silence, until they carried off poor Hits and everyone had dispersed from the scene. She silently stood up, and slid to the edge of the ledge, where she began to climb down. She needed to find Hits.


	12. Forsaken

_The Sun began to lazily break past the edge of the horizon, the dark outline of the mountains straining in vain to continue casting the lands before them in darkness. But the Sun wouldn't have any of that, and it triumphantly shone its bright rays to warm the valley as it climbed higher. The indignant mountains sat in their cool morning air and fumed, their rocks and crags slowly accepting the Sun's kindness as they heated up._

_And no birds sang. In spots, the humming of the grotesque bloatflies simmered through the air as they wafted around, picking clean whatever refuse they found. And the wind picked up and the trees didn't rattle with their thousand leaves. They creaked and shuddered and whispered, their dry, cracked and burnt bodies moaning a song for the new day. The Sun did not cringe at the sight of the Waste before it, for the Sun could not cringe. It can only shine upon the sight it had witnessed for almost two hundred years, every morning. The dull and gritty grey earth spread out as far as the eye could see. The caked and arid, waste brown desert flared in the light, before crackling and boiling from prolonged exposure._

_The Sun rose a bit higher, now clear of the mountains. But just barely, for not much time had passed from when the darkness was in power to when the light broke through the veil of fear and uncertainty. Packs of hungry and emaciated dogs yawned and stretched before snapping at each other and running off, roaming around for food. Bands of human hunters awoke to pack up their camps and to hunt for the dogs. Teams of Super Mutants widened their bloodshot, wild eyes and picked up their yellow, lumbering bodies to hunt the human hunters._

_Another day of eager survival had begun._

_In the valley of hunters and dogs and mutants, in a far-off corner of the land was a rather large clearing of sand. It was like a fledgling desert, with its own dunes that rose in golden waves and oddly shaped boulders that struck out above the sand to announce their stature._

_These pillars provided shade for the various creatures that found themselves in the small desert, which they did every once in a while. A small family of deathclaw lay sheltered underneath a rather large one. A lazy, big toothed deathclaw opened its sleepy eyes and looked around at the bright sand, contemplating waking its family. But it decided that was far too much work, for it closed its heavy eyes and went back to dream deathclaw dreams._

_Not too far away from the sleeping carnivore family, in the shade of a large smooth boulder laid a man sleeping gently on his side. He stirred, a quiet groan escaping past his lips before he rolled over and pulled a ragged cloth over him._

_As he rolled over, his hand came into contact with the hot sand that lay beyond the shady shelter of the boulder, and after a few moments he pulled it away and woke up. He rubbed the back of his disturbed hand, and muttered a quiet curse, before yawning and stretching. He scrambled to stand up, about to kick off the ragged cloth before he realized he was naked. So he grabbed it, wrapping it around his torso before he stood up and worked the kinks out of his muscles._

_He rolled his shoulders and massaged his stiff neck, groaning as he pressed against the tender knots in his flesh as a result of the uncomfortable night. He leaned against the boulder and rubbed his eyes, opening them and closing them, removing the heavy-lidded sleepiness. After his waking up ritual, he became accustomed to the light outside the shade before he became aware of his surroundings._

_He yelped and dropped back down behind his boulder at the sight of the sandy clearing, and the wide blue sky. He pressed himself as close as possible to the boulder, kicking away at the ground and trying to bury himself between the rock and the sand. He sat there for a good few minutes breathing heavily, his heart racing a mile a minute._

_Wide eyed, he stared around at the dry expanse outside of his personal shady shelter bubble. His head swerved left and right, trying to find something recognizable. After a few moments, his eyes narrowed, annoyed._

_"What the FUCK?!" he cried to the vast openness, his curse echoing off the miles of pillars and dunes of sand._

_He sat in silence, listening for a response. He quivered, for he was alone. He breathed in deeply, held it, and let it out in a deep, calming exhale._

_"Alright," he whispered to himself. "I'm out here, alone, and naked. It's sandy, okay. I know sand from…" he paused, staring intently at the sand. "Somewhere. Doesn't matter. Man, why the hell is the sky blue? And where are the walls?"_

_He risked a peek from behind his boulder, slowly looking up. The sky didn't look so threatening now, but staring at it too long gave him a headache. It was too big._

_"There should be walls. There should be walls like, ten miles away." He backed away, staying in his shelter again. "Big, vast walls that curved into a huge ceiling. Huge walls, ceiling that didn't show…that."_

_He peeked out again, and ducked back in. "I must be somewhere else. Without walls. Shit, am I on the…?"_

_He sat down, and scooped up a handful of sand, letting it sift through his fingers and fall to the cool ground. He thought hard, his brow furrowed and his dark eyes swirling in contemplation._

_"Blue, bright, open sky. And no walls. The air tastes different, it tastes better."_

_He shook his head, he couldn't stand the thought._

_"Where are the walls, the walls from…somewhere?" He thought hard, trying to remember the name._

_"What the hell?" He blinked in surprise, going through his mind. He could remember a massive, open cavern. With walls that curved up and over to form a giant dome with a bright light in the center. The walls of…what? Where was he before? He looked back down at the sand, thinking of the last time he'd been somewhere remotely like this desert. He couldn't remember where he knew sand from and he didn't know where he knew his walls from._

_He sighed in exasperation. "Wha, what? Why can't I?" he whined and pressed a palm to his forehead, leaning against the rock again._

_"Why can't I remember shit, where are my walls, and I'm goddamn HUNGRY!" he yelled, his frustration building. He kicked away a clump of sand in anger, his churning mind distracted by his rumbling stomach. The sand flew out into the hot sun, and the individual grains spread out and landed silently in the dry ocean. He stood up, quickly grabbed the falling cloth and walked out into the open. His feet burned, but only a little. He was resolved to take care of his hunger problem before he tackled the issues of his shoddy memory and location. He stalked across the golden expanse and he quickly glanced to the open sky. It was too big, it was too…_

_"No!" he said as he shut his eyes tight, and fell to his knees, digging into the soft burning grit like a brand pressed to flesh. Tears of frustration welled up in his eyes as he hugged himself, and sat there._

_"Why am I naked?" he asked no one in particular, his voice hollow with confusion and anger. His stomach rumbled, and he opened his eyes just a crack and stared at the twinkling sand below him._

_"Ugh, I need food. I imagine there aren't any cafeterias around here." He sighed again. "Don't know where I've seen a cafeteria either. Fuck."_

_All of a sudden, there was an extremely loud, extremely close rumbling that was definitely not his stomach. He froze, his breath caught in his throat. There was something behind him, moving closer. As he thought of his situation and the implications that went along with it, images of a television screen, a movie where an adventurer was lost before being eaten by some unknown creature flashed through his head._

_"Don't know where I saw that movie," he said to himself quietly, calmly, "But I'm fucking RUNNING."_

_He jumped to his feet and sprinted, the ragged cloth thrown in the air behind him before being swept away by a mighty claw. He ran hard, his feet digging into the hot sand. He could hear the thing behind him, stomping through the sand and it roared a feral growl that chilled the man. He risked a quick glance behind him and was lucky he didn't trip up in complete and utter fearful astonishment._

_It was huge and dark brown with long muscular, clawed feet. Its torso was almost humanoid, with the exception of its crouched running stance and its massive tail. But what made it truly monstrous were its elongated arms, and its huge claws, nails that looked razor sharp and deadly. And its head looked like something from his lessons about prehistoric animals, with sharp teeth and narrow eyes and long jaws that slavered in anticipation for the kill._

_He kept running, ignoring the fact that he didn't remember where he got this idea of having "lessons". He needed to get away from that thing, he needed to run faster._

_He swerved behind one of the pillars, the thing mimicking his movements. Its greater mass tripped it up for it slid on the sand rather than adroitly kept its footing, and it lost a lot of momentum to the naked man._

_He kept running hard though, the instinct of being prey capturing his mind and pushing him harder, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. In the distance he saw grey rocks, crags that looked like he could hide and weave through them. So he clenched his teeth and pushed, the beast catching up behind him. The blood pumped hard through him, enough that as he ran with each beat of his heart he saw colors erupt in his eyesight, vague purples and greens that didn't seem as if they were really there._

_He knew he couldn't keep his speed up for too long, and not hearing the beast behind him he slowed down and looked again. Apparently, that was what it was planning for. It had been running carefully, masking its movements so that when its prey slowed down, it could leap upon him. And leap it did, its long arms spread out, poised for attack._

_The man screamed and threw himself to the sand, rolling just as the beast landed and swung a massive claw that just barely missed taking his head off. He stood up from his roll and tried to escape again but they monster swung its tail and knocked him to his back. He scrambled on the sand, trying to regain his footing and kick away from the monstrosity, but it raised a claw and swung down to eviscerate the man. He cried out again as the claw came down upon him, and he swung a strong arm and deftly pushed the monsters wrist to the side, its razor nails just scraping his right cheek and penetrating the sand dune._

_The beast and man each seemed momentarily surprised by the man's quick action, and the man took this opportunity to raise his leg and kick the beast in its family jewels. The beast howled and the man rolled away, jumping to his feet and running across the sand again. He wasn't too far from the rocks now, he could definitely make it. The beast resumed its pursuit, infuriated by his prey's behavior. It ran harder too, intent on eating the foolish meatbag that dared challenge it._

_The man reached the rocky crags, jumping atop an immense boulder and sprinting across its rough surface before leaping a gap and running across another, steeper one. He didn't pause to look this time, but he stopped as he came to the edge of the boulder, and below him was a steep slide of gravel and dust. He groaned and jumped out, ready for the pain._

_He hit the steep surface hard, gravel and dirt digging and cutting into his side. He really wished he had clothes as he slid across the coarse shell of the rock. Above and behind him the deathclaw stopped at the edge as well, roaring its resolve as it leapt out as well, landing on clawed feet before slipping up and out, landing on its back and sliding fast. The man heard the roar and hit the level ground hard, flipping over his head and rolling to a dusty, bloody stop. He grunted in pain and quickly crawled up, staggering as he supported himself on his bloody leg and limping quickly out of the monsters way. Good thing too, because the beast was crying out as it slid down the rock, flipping over and smashing against the rock all the way down, its hide too tough to allow the dirt to cut it up._

_It crashed to the ground, a big tangled mess of tail and limbs. The man limped quickly, cursing as pain spiked through his leg and side with each jolting footstep. The beast howled and pulled itself up to its hulking height, and its head swerved around to look for its prey. It spied the meatbag injured and moving away at a slower pace. It howled in victory as it sprinted at him, the meatbag stopping and turning around. The beast's eyes focused into tunnel vision, the only clear thing was its prey, and it focused on its soon-to-be lunch. The man stood there, exhausted and waiting for his fate. The deathclaw leapt at him, its claws flashed…_

_And the man sidestepped, jumped to the left as the beast swung its claw. It couldn't halt its momentum. It skidded, but it was going far too fast to avoid the cliff edge the man had been standing on. It cried, for it knew trickery when it felt itself go airborne. The man's heart thumped hard in the milliseconds the beast was in the air. And he began to smile as it sailed off of the edge._

_It was cut short when the tip of the monsters tail hit him, and knocked him off balance and off of the edge as well. He cried out a panicked curse as he felt himself become weightless. He tumbled after the deathclaw to the ground far below, falling ten feet before slamming against an outcropping and rolling off, the monsters greater momentum propelling it too far away into open air. The deathclaw flew down, as the man hit another rock and bounced off. He spun around in the air fifteen feet, and then he slammed into something which broke under him. He yelled as he spun facing the ground, to see a very white, hard looking surface growing closer very quickly. He smashed into it, crumpling it in as he heard a crunching thud. He broke through with a metallic squeal and landed into something soft, jarring his barely conscious self to the core._

_He lifted his head a fraction. "Ow," he moaned quietly, and looked around._

_Arlene Marksheer had been re-assembling her shotgun very peacefully before a very bloody, very naked man smashed through her trailer roof. She leaped off of her chair in surprise, knocking over her bottle of whiskey and backing away from the mess in front of her. The roof had caved in two pieces, folds of plastic and metal attached to the roof and hanging free. The man had landed on her small bed, blankets and pillows scrambled up on him as he looked up at her. He was bleeding from huge gashes on his left leg and side, and he was covered in sweat and filth._

_They stared at each other momentarily before the deathclaw tore through her front door and ripped it off, sticking its dinosaur head in and roaring at her. The man grabbed a pistol off of a nearby shelf as she grabbed a shotgun from under the table, and quicker than the crippled deathclaw could think they had both unloaded into its face, her shotgun tearing off huge chunks of flesh and his pistol piercing its head and digging into its vital spots. It crumpled and fell away from the door, thudding against the dirt floor outside. It's broken leg twisted under it, a protruding bone sticking out of the bloody corpse._

_The man and Arlene breathed heavily, their weapons still trained on the door. A few seconds passed and they looked at each other again, one angry and surprised, the other tired and relieved. The man smiled a winning, disarming grin._

_"Hi."_

* * *

**Revieeeew**


	13. Darkness

He was greeted with darkness.

Everywhere. Not one sliver of light. Hits flung an arm ahead of him and smacked his wrist against something hard and cold. He hissed in pain. He was on his back, that much he knew, and he had the presence of mind, for once, to know that he was on the floor.

"Been passing out a lot lately," he murmured, and tried to get up. Lances of pain jolted him into submission. He held his aching sides and tried to ignore the lightning strike of every drum that beat inside his head. He kept himself there, still, every muscle and fiber of his being screaming. He didn't dare move. After a few seconds the pain died away to a dull ache. The consequences of his foray into the heart of the raider complex jumped back into his memory immediately after. Derek. The superhuman. And that self-proclaimed doctor. Heders, he had said. Everything had gone to shit. Especially when that bearded ogre crashed through the crowd.

Hits almost pushed everything away again. What did it matter that there were a few slightly advanced bad guys that had him by the balls? Go with the flow. Destroy anything in his way, and get the hell out of dodge. That was the usual plan. And it only failed once in a while.

No. Hits pushed himself. Heders had recognized him. Why? And why was Derek so...

Hits fought for the ability to even think coherently about the mercenary. Similar. That was the word he was looking for, a word that should have come easily to him. Why did he have to concentrate so hard to reach it?

That brought on an entirely new headache that Hits didn't have the strength for. There was some kind of force in his own head, keeping him away. He pushed once more and it's as if his mind retaliated by igniting the wounds all over his body. He resisted the urge to thrash and scream as the pain hit him again, and again.

* * *

"Move and I shoot."

Jexa felt the barrel of the pistol against her head before the words were spoken. She berated herself silently. She _knew _she had heard something behind her, and had simply assumed it was a radroach. Or something.

"Prisoners. Where are they kept?"

Jexa almost told the woman behind her to fuck off but the pistol against her head tempered her frustrations. There was something about the possibility of a ten millimeter bullet shattering her skull that kept her usually obnoxious mouth from saying anything obnoxious.

"Basement, North-east corner." She bit her lip. "Don't kill me," she quickly added.

The only response was a blow to the side of the head.

Silver eyed the dazed raider on the mucky floor and was disappointed that knocking someone out in the movies she'd seen didn't exactly work the same way in real life. There was just a cut on the raider girls' head and she was conscious and moaning. Silver bent down, tore a strip of cloth off of the raider's shirt and stuffed it into her mouth with little resistance. She opened a nearby locker and attempted to drag the girl to it. She was kind of heavy.

"Stand up and get in the locker," she commanded. A command reinforced by the pistol. The raider girl stood to her feet on shaking legs and tried her best to squeeze into the locker. She didn't exactly fit, so Silver gave her a few shoves.

"Now just stay there and don't cause any trouble," Silver said. The raider glared daggers. Silver shut the locker door, and shoved a discarded bolt through the lock opening. She gave it a rattle. It was secure.

Silver crept down the old school hallway, undisturbed by any other guards. It had taken her a good ten minutes to work up the courage to assault the raider girl. She shivered, and almost giggled. Adrenaline highs were almost as good as jet. As she crept through the dark and dusty hallways of the school, there were moments where she'd stop and ask herself why she was going so far out of her way to help some guy she hardly met.

Some freak more like, Silver thought. That was some insane shit she'd seen in that makeshift arena. Now she knew how Hits had managed to neutralize all of those raiders at her place. She shivered again, this time at the thought of Hits when he had regained courage during the fight. His eyes...they had glowed green. And as she watched them she heard what sounded like the crackle of electricity from where they fought. She hoped she wasn't going anywhere near some kind of freak experiment from the Commonwealth.

She checked herself. While she had her doubts, Hits needed her help. If he was alive.

The hallways were a veritable labyrinth. She got lost three times, and that was before finding the stairs down. Nothing annoyed her more than a delay. She needed to be in the basement five minutes ago. After what that great brute had done to Hits, she knew he needed medical attention. Unless he actually was some freak experiment. She liked to err on the side of caution though. Besides, he was pretty cute.

* * *

**I've been gone a while, and I need to get back into this. **


	14. Questions

Heders lifted the scalpel. "Three, seven, and a two on the torque-axiom," he said. Derek nodded and recorded the numbers on his clipboard. He eyed the doctor and his patient. The subject was on his back, strapped to the table by two large manacles at his wrists, holding his arms outstretched. His legs were restrained by similar devices.

The room was small, the operating table a scavenged, mish-mashed centerpiece in the middle. Derek could have reached out and touched Heders from the other side of the table and turned with his other arm and touched the nearby wall. It was too cramped for comfort.

"He is sedated, right?" Derek said, circling the table and poking Hits on the forehead with his pencil. "I mean, more than you might sedate, I don't know, a deathclaw?"

Heders smiled. "It's a special mix just for him." He looked up at Derek, dark goggles glinting in the fierce light. "He's not getting up."

Heders turned back to work, closing the small flap of flesh over the right breast. The wound healed immediately, only a few droplets of blood left as evidence to the invasion. Heders straightened himself, dropping his scalpel and snapping off his gloves. "I think that's that for today. My colleague's work is like art Derek. It's astounding that such a prototype held together so well." Heders turned away from the table and took the clipboard from Derek, his eyes running over the numbers.

"The guards told me he'd been screaming before we went to get him," Derek said.

"How diverting," Heders said, "get the assistants to throw him back in the cell. I have to look over these readings."

"Ever the caring doctor," Derek said. He snapped his fingers and three men in gang leathers appeared from the doorway. He followed them as they removed the manacles from the man and shifted him to the gurney. He was behind them as they wheeled Hits away. Why had he been screaming?

* * *

**To whom it may concern, I think I'm back. **


	15. Escape

"Mart, get that door closed," Axel said. "The fuckin breeze smells like shit."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have shit so close to the door," Mart sneered. "Close it yourself why not? I'm sure I don't look like your bitch."

Axel grumbled and stood, walking up the steps to shut the door. A moan came from the cell as he passed, and Axel kicked a rock at the metal bars where it rattled against them. "Shut up," Axel grumbled tiredly.

"Don't fuck with him," Mart said, flipping through his comic book. "If he gets out he'll fuck us twice as hard. So just...don't. Please."

"I'm still not believin all you said about that fight," Axel said. "I've chilled with Derek. He ain't that strong."

Mart gave Axel a sidelong stare. "Believe me bro. Just, believe me, ok?"

Axel shrugged and continued up the steps. When he reached the door he was struck in the face with a boot heel. Axel's nose crumpled and he recoiled with a cry, losing balance and tumbling down the concrete steps. Mart dropped his comic and reached for the shotgun by his side. Bullets pelted the room all around him, one striking his gun and sending it skittering off into the corner. He cursed and kicked the table over, throwing himself backwards and tumbling over his chair. He regained his footing. A woman with silver hair had her gun pointed at the bloody Axel on the floor. His hands were in the air, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Axel I told you to keep your gun on you, you simple fuck!" Mart snarled. The woman pointed her gun at Mart, who ducked his head behind the overturned table.

"You," he heard her say, "is he here?"

Silence. Then a loud bang and the ping of a ricochet against the concrete. Axel swore and said, "yeah he's here, he's here alright?"

"Like your buddy said, don't fuck with us. Crawl backwards behind the table. I'm watching that shotgun over there so don't make a move or I'll blow your ass out your dick."

"Deal lady, youve got a deal."

Mart rolled his eyes as Axel came shuffling on his back behind the table. "So," Axel said, sitting up. "Where we goin after this? Can't stay here."

Mart smacked him across the face.

Silver heard a slap and an "ow!" and smiled, but kept her gun trained on the space between the table and the gun. She walked down slowly, carefully, listening for any movement. To her left after the stairwell, she could hear heavy breathing, and as she came off the last step she could see the bars of a dark cell.

"You almost sound like you know what you're doing," a tired voice croaked from the shadows. She squinted, but couldn't see him. "Hits?" she asked, quietly.

"One and only," Hits said. He coughed, violently. "You'd think they'd have better security."

"Oh fuck off," she heard one of the guards say behind the table.

Hits started to laugh, only for him to dissolve into a fit of coughing again. "Not feeling so good, Silv."

"I'm getting you out. Hey," she called behind her, "keys?"

After a moment of silence she put two rounds into the table, earning her a cry of pain and a set of keys being tossed at her feet.

"You need to reload," Hits whispered. He was closer now, his hand wrapped around the bar in front of her. She looked up and stifled a gasp. He was cut up and bloody, his hair disheveled and matted. He'd clearly vomited, the stains of which showing on his torn and faded jeans. She almost didn't register what he said, but he repeated himself, urgently. "You need to reload, _now._"

"Oh," Silver said, reaching into her pocket for another magazine. She heard a flurry of activity behind her. Silver desperately relaoded and turned around, but she saw that one of the guards had already reached his gun. "Fucking-" she grit her teeth and fired wildly at him, just as the table launched itself at her. She dropped down, tried to dodge the attack but the table slammed into her, driving the breath from her as she collapsed against the prison cell.

"Axel I forgive you all your trespasses," one of them said. "I have to say, I do wish you were strong _and_ smart."

Silver couldn't move. She was being crushed against the cell with the table. The cell keys were on the floor. She couldn't reach them.

"We can't all be fuckin perfect Mart," Axel said, the one smashing her against the cell. "Just come over here and kill her so she doesn't shoot me."

"I'm not killing her," Mart said. Silver could hear a rustling beneath her. She looked down again. The keys were gone. "The fuck behind the bars knows her, and I have a deep sense of self-preservation if you couldn't already tell. Those bars won't hold him forever. So, guess what?"

Silver could hear the keys turning in the lock. A moment of silence hung between Mart and Axel.

"You really want me to fuckin guess?"

"Say it."

"Fucking what?" Axel yelled.

"We're not killing his friends."

At that moment the door burst forward with Silver inbetween it and the table. She was momentarily a battering ram, crushed between table and bars, driving Axel off balance and tumbling towards the wall. Hits shoved past her, running full tilt at Mart. Mart's eyes filled with fear, and he dropped his gun and held his hands in the air.

Hits ceased his sprint right in front of him. "Smart man," Hits whispered, pressing his index finger to Mart's chest and pushing him backwards. Mart stepped back and nodded, sweating profusely. He motioned to the dazed Axel to follow him, and they both quietly, calmly, ambled up the stairs and out of sight. Hits sagged immediately, falling to his knees and whimpering in pain. Silver scrambled to her feet and caught him, throwing his arm over her shoulders. He was surpisingly light. "Are you okay?" Hits said, panting and wincing with every move.

"Oh, I'm fine. You only crushed me flat," she joked, rubbing her ribs with her other arm.

He coughed and Silver winced internally with compassion. "I need to get you out of here."

"Mm-hmm," Hits murmured absently. Silver helped him to his feet and they both hobbled up the stairs into the dim light of the hallway.


	16. A Quick Snack

They emerged from the crumbled shell of the old school without drawing any undue attention. Silver supported Hits, who hobbled alongside her, stifling coughs and gasps of pain as they moved over broken concrete barriers and past rusted cars. The moon was out in full, casting the shattered land around them in a haze of bright, luminescent light.

"Okay," Hits gasped as they rounded a boulder. "Rest. Stop."

They were far down the hill, almost entering Springvale proper where they could easily hide amongst the streets and ancient homes. The boulder cast a deep shadow where they stood, and provided ample cover from the school and whomever might raise an alarm there. Silver nodded and gently helped Hits to sit down.

"Better," he said, closing his eyes and scratching his chest. "Sitting is good."

"Yeah, sure," Silver said, surreptitiously eyeing the dark school, "It's the best when you're out of danger."

"We are out of danger," Hits said, smiling wryly. "Home free. Don't even worry about it."

"You can't believe that."

"You really shouldn't make this any less fun Silv."

Silver almost laughed at that. "Fun? Are you fucking kidding me?" she hissed.

"Predictable Silver," Hits said softly. "So upset. So wholly lost."

He spoke in such strange monotone that Silver had no response but to wonder what the hell was going on. He looked at her now with relaxed, piercing eyes that didn't hold any of the usual mischief. If she didn't know any better she would have thought he was a different person entirely.

Silver shivered. "Hits," she said quietly, "What are you?"

In a flash, the smile was back. "Baby, I'm whatever you want me to be."

Silver growled in frustration. She grabbed his arm and, despite his protests, lifted him to his feet and pulled him further down the hill.

"You want to be a little prick? Fine," she said through grit teeth, "But you're not getting off scot free about it."

"It's-ow-just as I deserve," Hits gasped. They trudged further into Springvale, navigating the tight, garbage-laden streets and once in a while ducking into an abandoned house. It wasn't too long before Silver hear a pop in the air, and looked up to see a red flare flying above the school. She cursed. Hits groaned.

"Really not in the zone for fighting anymore tonight," Hits murmured. "Not even with you."

Silver looked down to see that Hits was looking back up at her with faraway eyes. She was about to tell him to shutup when she noticed fresh blood running down from his chest. "Hits," she said, "you're bleeding."

"Not a foreign concept," he said as twin rivers of blood trickled from his nostrils.

"No," Silver gasped, "Fuck Hits, you're really bleeding! Here, lay down. Holy shit."

"Search party's gonna get us," he said in a dry, singsong voice. She propped him up against the scratchy, faded wood of an old house and sat him down. For perhaps the fifth time that evening, she questioned her sanity in assisting the man. He was more of a bloody mess than when she found him in his cell. A cut had opened up cleanly on his chest, a flap of skin hanging where not long ago it was smooth and ublemished. His head was bleeding profusely, cuts and scrapes seemed to have inexplicably opened up further. She fell to her knees, eyes wide. "Hits...oh my god."

"Took you long 'nuff," he said, "I've had my shirt off forever. I worked for this body you know."

"Shut the fuck up Hits," she said, wildly looking around for something, anything, she could do to stop the bleeding. She tore off the lower half of her shirt and pressed it against his chest wound.

"Hey Silver-"

"I said shut the fuck up," she repeated again. She glanced up to the school. In the bright moonlight she could see dark forms flittering out of the school and sallying forth in all directions.

"You asshole. Yeah," Silver said, looking Hits in the eyes, "You're just a fucking asshole."

"Sorry," he said, blinking slowly and resting his head against the wall. "Didn't want to be."

"Then wake up," she said. She kept her voice commanding, harsh, but she could feel it breaking. He was dying right in front of her. "We need to get up and go. You're some freak, you should know yourself better than me. Come on!"

Hits opened his eyes at "freak". He grimaced. "Radiation. You need to irradiate me."

Silver almost let disbelief cloud her judgement, but she shook it off. "Okay weirdo, whatever you say."

Silver leaped to her feet and burst through the door of the house, seeing only dim shadows and the rays of moonlight shining through the windows. She stumbled through the darkness where she thought the kitchen would be. The place was nearly bare, but there was an old refrigerator sitting in the corner of the room. "Come on, I find you everywhere don't fuck me now," Silver said, hoping beyond hope she'd find what she needed. She gripped the old metal handle of the fridge and pulled. It snapped off the door, leaving her surprised and holding a useless piece of metal. She snarled and gripped the door side with both hands, pulling suddenly in sheer rage. She nearly ripped the door off. It flew open, the top hinge breaking to leave the door dangling and swaying from the bottom one. She peered inside and there they were.

Two bottles of Nuka Cola and two boxes of Fancy Lad's Snack Cakes.

She gleefully swiped them up into her arms and ran to the door. Hits was where she left him, but as she stared out into the ghost of Springvale she could see that the raider search parties had moved closer to their location. She crouched down next to Hits and desperately tore open the snack boxes. "Can you eat all your own or do I need to chew it for you?" she asked, handing him one. He gave her a sidelong glance before lifting the cake to his lips and taking a bite. He chewed and nodded, and with his mouth full, said, "More."

She removed her knife from her belt and used the tip to pop open the first Cola bottle. The tip snapped on the second one. "Here, Nuka Cola," she said, "You owe me a knife."

When she looked up to hand him the bottles, his head wounds had stopped bleeding. "Thanks," he said, grabbing one and chugging it.

Silver could hear voices from across the street. She froze. She and Hits were protected from view only by an old, dilapidated waist high fence. "Can you move?" she whispered, handing him the next bottle without looking.

"Ugh, I think so. I think I might also throw up. Snack cakes? Really?"

"I'm going to hit you later. We have to move now."

Hits chugged the last bottle. "Ah, okay. Let's go."

Once again they stole away under cover of darkness, towards Silver's home.


	17. It Begins

Dr. Heders felt that familiar painful twinge tickle his right hand. He looked down to see it shaking again. Before he could focus on the task at hand, he was back in the past, remembering failed projects, fire, and death. Time had warped him, that was clear enough. But nothing had brought him low more thoroughly than his own failings. He willed his hand to still itself, and the burning sensation faded away as suddenly as it had erupted into being.

Heders dove back into work, his moment of distraction now pushed fully from his mind. Wires, metal tools with makeshift rubber handles torn from old discarded tires, scraps of the old world now put to purpose for his own machinations. Once again he found himself on the precipice of violence and conquest. Once again he cursed a man who evaded his grasp.

Derek stepped through the door into the workshop, unannounced as always, and stood to attention.

"They're out searching Springvale. I could still join them."

Heders refit the wires, securing them with a few twists until they were fully coiled. "No need. The boy is weak. You would be excessive."

Derek shrugged and sat down in the grimy chair near the door. "So I sit here then?" He asked, flicking a bug off his armrest, "brilliant allocation of resources sir. Couldn't have asked for better."

Heders chuckled. "Oh the never ending attitude. Have I upset you, Derek?"

"You still want to go through with the raid," Derek said.

"And?"

"It's a foolhardy mission. Megaton has equal numbers, every one of which carry firearms. A full third of us are armed with sticks."

"Do you not grasp the concept of cannon fodder?"

Derek clenched his jaw. "That's not the point. When the raiders fail, which they will, we have other problems to contend with. One of them will survive to be questioned. Megaton will be wondering when these idiots grew the brains to use all this tech and tactics. The sheriff starts asking questions, they learn our names, and suddenly Dr. Heders and Derek the mutant freak are hunted all across the Wasteland as the biggest bad guys around."

"As if the Wasteland matters, but still, you flatter me," Heders said, lifting the crate of fusion cells onto the table. "The Wasteland's most wanted. What a grandiose tital."

Derek leaned forward in his chair, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine. Ignore me. But with Hits escaping, I see no point to this. Tactically-"

"You know nothing of tactics," Heders said, anger seeping into his words. "Were you a general in the war all those years ago? Were you a mecenary captain? I didn't know that Derek, I should call the Talons and let them know they lost a valuable asset."

"Doctor-"

"No. You were a security guard in a vault, Derek," Heders said with barely concealed contempt. "You were elevated beyond your station by, oh I don't know. Ah, yes. Me."

Heders drew close to Derek, a crackling power tool in his hand. "Me, Derek. So trust me lad. I know what I'm doing." Heders turned away to get to work.

"Do you?" Derek said.

Heders bolted the last piece into the machine with a loud _crack._ "With great reverence and conviction. I do."

* * *

"I'm going to lie down for a spell," Hits said, unbuckling his belt and letting his pants slide to the floor. He unceremoniously dumped himself into the twin bed he just flipped over, the mattress shredded by shrapnel. He yelped and reached under him, extracting a piece of sharp metal from his abdomen, flicking it onto the floor.

"Good lord," Silver said from the kitchen, "did you just take your pants off?"

"Yup," said Hits, closing his eyes and trying to will himself to sleep.

"Did you forget about the army of raiders coming right for this place?" Silver growled, coming out from behind the wall. Hanging from her shoulder was a bandolier of shotgun shells and in her hands were two shortened double barrel shotguns. Hits sat up and pulled his jeans back on. "No," he said, wishing he was anywhere else. "I didn't. What I was suggesting was hiding. In the dark, where they wouldn't find us."

"Smart plan. Except for the part where they're searching every home. Duh."

"Look, don't get smart with me. Rough night."

Silver tossed him one of the shotguns, and he caught it with clumsy hands. "We're going to Megaton. We'll be safe there _and _we can warn them. That was the original plan, remember?"

"I can't remember my own name sweetheart," Hits said, standing and turning off the small lamp still flickering on the dresser. "Might as well get a move on."

Silver filed his words away for questioning later, then let her eyes adjust to the dark before stepping out after Hits into the cold breeze of the night. She could see the intermittent flickering flashlights of all the raiders spread out in Springvale, searching for them. They were persistent, more so than any she had ever seen before. How could such a force have gathered so close to one of the few remaining strongholds of society in the whole Wasteland? People were getting lazy, Silver surmised. With a big wall like Megaton has, she could see herself becoming complacent too. After Moriarty had it out for her, she quickly remembered what it was like to live on the fringes of safety, dodging danger every other day. This was something else. This was an invading force, and an organized one to boot. She looked back at the remnants of the old town and could just imagine them charging out of the darkness, assault rifles spitting bullets, clubs and machetes waving in the air. "Hits," she said, "let's hurry."

* * *

Hits' head swam. He'd been dazed and confused since he woke up in the dark, dank cell but he tried his best not to let on. It seemed to be clearing up a bit now, but he still felt like he wasn't all there. He trudged up the rocky, sloping hill toward the top where the high walls of Megaton were illuminated by headlamps and makeshift lights. He heard Silver whisper something about hurrying behind him. _Going as fast as I can,_ he thought miserably. It was true. His legs burned, and he felt like if he put any more energy into moving up the damn hill he'd pass out _again_ and roll all the way back down. He absently kicked aside the leg of a giant ant carcass in his path and carried on, loosely gripping the shotgun as he walked, swinging his arms a bit more than usual to maintain balance.

"Hits," Silver hissed, "a little faster."

"Not a machine," Hits said, eyes deadset on the path ahead. Which was fortunate really, because he noticed an odd leg sticking out from behind a rock. Hits assumed it was a carcass and continued his march forward, strangely fascinated by the corpse. That is, until the leg moved, drawing itself in behind the boulder to better conceal itself. Hits lifted his shotgun, his half-lidded eyes tracking any movement. "Raider scouts ahead," Hits said, "probably just in case we wanted to run to Megaton in the first place."

"Who's out there?" called Stockholm from high above on the catwalk. "I don't want to shoot you."

"It's Hits," Hits said, eyes never leaving the boulder as he moved, "raiders behind that boulder."

Hits knew that's when things would go to shit. Two raiders with combat shotguns aimed at both Hits and Silver rolled out from behind the boulder (not popping up as he thought). Hits didn't even think. He threw himself backwards, spreading his arms wide to catch Silver on the way down. He slammed into her, dragging her to the floor just as the barrage started.

He could feel the shotgun pellets passing over him as he fell.

He hit the ground and rolled. Silver did similar, acting faster than him. She was already scrambling behind a dead tree, blasting chips off of the raider's cover as she went. Hits haphazardly rolled down the hill, stopping a few meters from where he was attacked. He spit dirt and jimmied up behind a rock outcrop on his stomach.

Silver was yelling and blasting two shells at a time out of his vision. Hits could see Stockholm and his rifle trying to pick off the raiders from above.

Hits crawled closer and popped up. One was wounded on the floor and the other was behind cover and shooting up at Stockholm. Hits fired once, twice, the force of the blasts jarring his tired arms.

The raider jumped with the shots and he fell over, still.

The headache came back with full force. "Hits, Jesus Christ, you alright?" Stockholm called from his perch. Silver came running up to him. "Not passing out again," Hits said as his vision swam. "No more tonight."

"That's a relief," she said, grabbing his hand and gently pulling him towards the gates. "We just have to go inside." Hits followed her on shaky legs.

* * *

Derek's head shot up at the echoing sounds of gunfire from across the town. "Megaton," Derek breathed.

Heders watched as the four raiders he commanded rolled the machine out of the front gates of Springvale Elementary. "I thought as much," Heders said, "so, the invasion begins tonight."


	18. A Clash of Conscience

Lucy woke to the sound of muffled gunfire. She groaned when she noticed how dark it was out her window. She must have had maybe three or four hours of sleep, tops. Perfect. She pulled herself out of bed slipped on her boots. It had become a habit to wear her pants to bed every night, and seeing as how often she was disturbed by violence in the late hours of dark, she thought it a good one. She had other habits: her gun under her pillow for one. She slipped it out and holstered it, then grabbed her discarded wrap and pulled it up and around her chest before donning her vest. Better safe than sorry, her father always said.

Lucy buckled her knife to her belt and opened her front door, stepping out into the cool breeze of the early morning. The Megaton lights, hanging from the power lines criss-crossing the air and buildings all around town, illuminated the town almost completely. More gunfire, coming from the gates. She drew her pistol and ran, her feet pounding the corrugated metal catwalks that wound their way down to the crater floor. She prayed to God that Stockholm was alright. It sounded like their was an army pounding at Megaton's door.

"Lucy!" A deep voice called behind her. She turned to see Lucas Simms jogging up the hill, his duster billowing behind him. He caught up to her, panting. "Too old for this shit. Let's relieve Stockholm huh?"

"Sounds like we need more guns," she said, wincing at another few barks of of gunfire.

"The rest of the town is waking up fast," Lucas said, drawing his revolver and flipping it open to load another two bullets in. "We shouldn't need more than-"

"Me," Jericho said, stalking up behind Simms, his AK in hand and his cold eyes watching the sentry perch. "I can't see Stockholm. Let's kill some people."

"Hold on," Lucy said. "I haven't hear-"

Another volley of fire. Three shots of a rifle and another blast. Lucy listened and heard Stockholm calling out to someone in the silence.

"That last one was a shotgun," Jericho said, smiling dryly. "Someone got fucked up."

"Let's check it out," Simms said, moving forward. Jericho and Lucy followed suit.

As they crested the hill, Lucy noticed the gates opening. She cursed and moved out of the direct line of sight, hunkering down nearby the water pipe that ran adjacent to the stairs leading back down to the town square. Jericho just walked forward, raising his AK and aiming down it's sights as he moved. Simms slowed down, but did similar.

"Hold yourself," Simms announced to the intruders.

"Or I'll dice you like sausage," Jericho snarled, flipping the selector on his AK to full auto.

To their surprise, emerging from the gate was a white haired woman supporting a very bloody young man. Lucy, her gun trained on them, blinked to make sure she was seeing correctly. _It was Hits_.

"Gentlemen," the woman breathed, brow furrowed and annoyance plastered on her features, "Thank you for the welcome but we can use some fucking help here."

Lucy stood. "Is he alright?" she asked, gingerly moving forward. Fast movements weren't smart when everyone on edge had their fingers on the trigger. "What happened?"

"Raiders," the woman breathed.

"Silver?" Jericho asked, lowering his gun. "How many?"

"An army," Silver said, "coming for Megaton. Holding dead weight, could use help."

"Seriously guys," Hits said, head low. Lucy jumped at that, surprised he was awake.

"I'll help Silver with him," Lucy said, running forward. "Simms, you and Jericho wake everyone. We're being attacked."

Jericho scoffed. "I don't do what you tell me, woman. And there ain't no army."

Simms, looking out beyond Silver and Hits, paled. "Jericho do as she says. Now."

Jericho faced Simms, face scrunched in anger. His rage visibly fell away as he saw what Simms was looking at.

A hundred lights, filtering through Springvale, heading towards Megaton. In their center, a flickering blue _thing _moving slowly down the main road.

"Alright," Jericho said, resolve masking his surprise. "But not because she said so."

He darted off down the steps. Simms looked up to Stockholm. "See how many you can pick off from here before they reach us," Simms said. Stockholm saluted from his perch.

"I'll see it done my captain," he said. He stepped away from the railing and disappeared from sight. "Lucy, help him to the clinic, then take your own advice. The whole town needs to wake up. We've got a big fight."

Lucy nodded, then slung Hits' other arm over her shoulder, and she and Silver both carried Hits toward the clinic.

"So," Lucy said, "How'd you get mixed up with him?"

"Fainted at my door," Silver said curtly. She was focused on the terrain below her. Lucy chewed her lip.

"And the raiders?"

"I worked for them."

Lucy frowned and ceased her questioning. They were almost at the bottom of the path, where Doc Church's clinic sign blazed with a neon glow. Lucy hoped he was awake by now. She couldn't possibly see how he could be asleep with the racket from the gate. Above her, stepping out onto the catwalks in front of their homes, Megaton was waking. Settlers and store owners all bleary eyed and holding their guns. Some didn't even have shirts on. Far out ahead on the south side of town, she could see Moriarty standing with his hands pressed agains the catwalk railing, shouting at someone.

Silver made a noise at the back of her throat. Lucy spared a glance and found her glaring up at Moriarty as well.

_Wonder what her beef is?_ Lucy thought. She had no time to think on it more, as Doc Church opened his door and eyed the two girls carrying the wounded man. He glanced over Hits' wounds, then looked to Lucy. "Really?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said.

Church sighed and waved them inside his clinic. "Put him on the table," Church said, donning an apron and tying it off at his back, "douse those cloths and get as much blood off as you can."

"Doctor," Silver said, "we need to irradiate him."

Church spared her one cold, dismissive glance before turning back to his tools and setting them out one by one. Lucy looked at her, confused. "What?"

"Radiation. He can heal from it," Silver said, looking more frantic by the moment, "We need to get him to the bomb pool."

"Silver," Hits said. His voice was weak and tired. "Shush. Let the doctor do his thing."

"No," Silver said, voice rising. Church turned again, annoyed.

"Silver, keep it together. I'll need your help."

"There's an army of raiders coming for us, and he's the only one who can do anything about it!" Silver shouted, pointing a finger at Hits. "I saw your fight with the other freak," she said, speaking to Hits, "We can't stop him!"

"Calm down," Lucy said, hands up in a disarming gesture and moving towards the crazed woman. "You've been through hell, but we can handle some raiders."

Silver hefted her shotgun, aiming it at Lucy's torso. Lucy stopped dead in her tracks. Church swore.

"Pick him up and take him to the pool," Silver said, "Drop your gun first."

"You're fucking me Silver," Hits moaned.

"I haven't even started," Silver growled. "Move it!"

Lucy dropped her gun and helped Doc Church lift Hits off the table.

"Shame," Doc Church said to Lucy in a lowered voice as they stepped back out into the night, "She was such a sweet girl."

They lifted him along, down the slanted catwalk that served as the clinic porch and onto the dirt road that led to the center of Megaton. People were running about, some looking for their weapons and some just trying to pull on their pants and coats. Everyone was being directed to the gates and the walls, and moved their accordingly. Except for their small group, everyone was streaming to the outer parts of the town. When a passerby drew too close, Silver moved right behind Hits, angling her gun's barrel towards Lucy's spine.

"Silver, please," Hits said. "They can't..."

"Safety over secrecy," Silver replied, eyes darting back and forth, scanning the shadows that the lights cast.

Church chuckled. "Sounds like the Enclave."

The walk to the bomb crater was a short one. In no time Lucy could see the old nuke looming over the sheen of pale green rubbish water that lapped at the bottom. The bomb was credited with giving Megaton its name and origin, and was also a frightening daily reminder that the whole town lay clustered around the same device that destroyed the world.

"We throw him in there," Silver said, motioning toward the water. Lucy remembered something then, something odd. Hits' miraculous recovery as he lay in the dirt at this very spot.

Well," Doc Church said, "This is where my participation ends."

He let go of Hits' arm and turned to face both Silver and Lucy, pistol drawn and aimed at Silver's head. Lucy gasped.

"Out of the way," Silver said, shotgun pointed squarely at Church's chest.

"He's my patient," Church said, "and as much as I despise him, that isn't changing. I don't irradiate my patients."

"You didn't pull this stunt at the clinic," Silver argued.

"I didn't know how far you were going to go." Church's expression softened. "Silver, stop this. I know you. This is crazy."

"I know how crazy it sounds," Silver said. "You have to trust me, Doc. You just...you have to."

Church shook his head. "Not at the risk of his life."

"Then what about everyone's lives?" Silver shouted. "Church, this whole town will burn! Small arms fire won't stop it!"

"And your answer is murder?"

Silver seethed. "This won't kill him. I promise."

"Yeah? And how many years of medical experi-"

"It won't!"

Silver and Doc Church looked to Lucy, still holding Hits. "I-I don't think it will kill him."

"How can you possibly know?" Church asked.

"Long story, we should listen to her," Lucy said. "Also, Hits is heavy."

Church stood conflicted, looking from Lucy to Silver. Lucy sympathized with him. Believing in them meant going against everything he knew as a doctor. But they didn't have a lot of time.

An explosion rang out from outside the Megaton walls. A bright blue flash lit up the night, and then faded away to plunge the night into darkness again. All of the light hanging in Megaton flickered, and died.

* * *

**I've lost all my readers and that no good**


	19. Plunge

Darkness settled over Megaton and a stark silence followed. That's when the shooting started.

All across the North wall they could hear explosions, the rattling of automatic fire, and men and women screaming for help or support.

"Put that fucking gun away because I'm doing it," Silver said. "He's going in. Lucy!"

Lucy and Hits ambled forward. Doc Church's lip curled in frustration before he angrily holstered his gun.

"I hope you're right, or you're going to kill him," he said.

An explosion sounded again, and another flash of blue split the sky. Silver helped Lucy pull Hits to the pool.

"Raiders won't even know what hit'em," Silver said with a grim smile.

She heard the loud creak of metal far above her, and pulled Lucy and Hits back. Something dropped out of the air and landed at the ground in front of them, between them and the pool around the nuke. The ghostly green glow of a Pip-Boy light flickered on. Derek stood it their way, clad in a black battle vest and staring daggers at Silver. The glow of the Pip Boy cast his face into a shadowy, fearsome visage.

"Drop him and get out of Megaton," he said coldly.

"Like hell!" Lucy said, awkwardly drawing her pistol and training it on him. Silver felt a shock of fear, and tried to warn her but it was too late. As soon as Lucy's revolver was free of her holster, Derek drew his 10mm pistol faster than she or Lucy could have thought. He shot three times.

"NO!" Doc Church yelled.

Lucy dropped her gun and fell to the dirt. Silver felt numb. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen.

"You son of a bitch!" Church snarled.

Derek's pistol swept over to Church, but he didn't take his eyes off of Silver and Hits.

"Drop him," he said again.

"Whatever you say boss," Silver said. She knelt and dropped Hits to the dirt.

"You," Derek said to Church, "Walk away."

Church's hand looked like it was drifting towards his revolver but Derek shook his head. "No. Just leave."

There was such a note of finality in his voice that Silver felt inclined to walk away herself. She didn't. Doc Church looked to Silver, eyes full of apology, and he began to walk backwards. There wasn't anything he could do. If he tried, he'd just die.

Silver glanced over at Lucy. She wasn't moving, and it was too dark to see if she was alive without going over and checking her pulse. On the floor, Hits inclined his head to look at Lucy as well. He murmured something that Silver couldn't quite catch.

"Okay lady, back up," Derek said. "And get out of here."

In the distance, more yelling, more guns. An explosion.

"Why?" Silver said without thinking.

Derek's cold demeanor flickered with confusion.  
"Why?" Derek said. He watched the sky burst into blue again as the people of Megaton died at the gates. "I really don't know."

Two shots rang out, and the moment was gone. Derek staggered and gasped.

The bomb site was suddenly illuminated in a red light as a flare landed at Derek's feet.

Billy Creel marched out of the darkness wielding two massive .44 Magnum revolvers. He shot with one, catching Derek in the leg, and then shot with the other. It hit him square in the chest and the impact knocked Derek over onto his back. Silver whooped in exhilaration and pulled her shotgun from her leg holster. She jerked with the force of the buckshot as the shotgun barked, blasting away chunks of Derek's flesh.

"Church said you needed some help," Billy said, a devilish grin on his face.

"He's not dead," Silver said darkly, opening the breach and popping two more shells in. "He's some freak so trust me."

"Miss, I'll believe anything."

True to her words, Derek was still alive. He slowly rolled over, blood trailing from multiple wounds all over him.

"Even if it won't kill ya, it must hurt like hell," Billy called, "So drop your gun, because I've got a lot more where that came from!"

Derek, coughed blood and gave them a resigned smile. "Hey, have to lose sometimes," he said. Then he rolled to the side with a speed that was impossible with his wounds. Billy Creel opened fire immediately, hitting Derek once, twice, but Derek was on his feet and sloughing them off like they were mosquito bites. Silver yelled and shot. The shotgun too, he ignored. Derek raised his pistol almost casually and shot. To her left, Billy grunted but then the barrel was looking at her and Silver didn't have a moment to spare. She ran to the right, hearing bullets just whizzing by her. Ahead there was a piece of cover, a bunch of rusted metal barrels. She felt an eruption of pain in her left side and she screamed.

* * *

Lucy was bleeding.

Lucy was dying. Hits could hear Billy's voice and he could hear Derek chuckling and he could hear guns all around him. All he could feel was uncommonly miserable. There she was again, at the beginning of the world, a ghost-angel on the table.

And then he could hear Silver scream and Hits' heart broke. No more. Please, no more. Don't let anyone else die.

Hits rolled over and pushed himself to his hands and knees. Every movement was agony but agony it had to be. Agony he was familiar with. What else was there?

He wearily looked to the great bomb in the crater, it's metal hull reflecting the light of the burning flare. Was there peace? Hardly. He turned and began to crawl, one hand reaching out and gripping the dirt, pulling himself forward.

Was there a kind world beyond? He'd gone beyond and all he found was death. Kindness was found in shallow places where love was just splinters. It was okay. It would all be okay.

He was going faster now, and his muscles were tearing themselves apart. He could feel his wounds re-opening. He could feel his memories again.

"Broken glass, shattered bone, these things will only matter," he murmured as he drew closer to the bomb. "If the brave don't say another word, if the sad only get sadder."

He could still feel Arlene's hands on his brow. He could still feel the touch of needles deep in his skin.

And then all he could feel was cold, dirty water enveloping him.

* * *

**Chapters shouldn't be this short**


End file.
